The Elegant Universe
by Nyx Underwood
Summary: When Sheldon achieves his dream of illuminating the workings of the universe, he realises that his greatest challenge is to understand the world around him. A story of growing up and discovering something you never expected. Sheldon/Penny.  AU after 3x01
1. Chapter 1: The Elegant Universe

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter One: The Elegant Universe**[1]

"_Einstein was not motivated by the things we often associate with scientific undertakings, such as trying to explain this or that piece of experimental data. Instead, he was driven by a passionate belief that the deepest understanding of the universe would reveal its truest wonder: the simplicity and power of the principles on which it is based. Einstein wanted to illuminate the workings of the universe with a clarity never before achieved, allowing us all to stand in awe of its sheer beauty and elegance. _

_Einstein never realized this dream."_

- Brian Greene, _The Elegant Universe_

* * *

><p><em><strong>11 October 2009, 11.00pm<strong>_

_**Caltech University**_

He had left the numbing arctic wastelands at the end of the world and returned home to Texas, yearning for the warm comfort of home. Change had always frightened him, caused him an unrelenting sense of anxiety and distress. But, for the first time since he had graduated summa cum laude from the University of Texas at age fifteen, Dr Sheldon Cooper wanted desperately to close a door to the outside world and enjoy the inexplicable comfort that came from eating a melted cheese sandwich with a smiley face engraved on it.

Then there was the more obvious comfort that came with closing the heavy wooden door to his mother's house. The door had protected him in the past: first, from little boys with sticks who hated him simply because he was too different to realize how different he was, and then later, from the men he studied next to at college – at 11, standing next to them in class, hogging the blackboard, earning the indulgent smiles that came from great men in search of a prodigy to wheel out at conferences – who hated him and didn't understand why.

It was a complex hatred, one that was borne of realising that Nature gifts some with greater tools than others – knowing, some for the first time, that no matter how hard they worked, how desperately they wanted it, this strange little kid with a small train figurine always clutched in his little fist would always have what they lacked.

It was the difference between brilliance and genius. And they hated him for his gifts, almost as much as they hated him for his strange catalogue of eccentricities – the surgical gloves he liked to wear, his utter incomprehension of social dynamics, the lack of empathy and know-it-all rants, the fact he never seemed to quite understand the joke at his expense, the fact he never had a retort other than pointing out the undeniable truth that he was smarter than them.

He would look around blankly, uncertain why he was being mocked but with enough experience to know that he was.

But when he got home – home to his spot in the attic where he could aim his telescope to the small patch of night sky visible in Texas – closing the doors on his fanatical mother, his irritating sister and his bully of a brother, he could finally be alone with his thoughts and contemplate the wonders of the universe.

Sheldon could remember the very moment that he became aware of the mysteries of the universe. He had been four years old – already too smart for his own good, as his mother would say – and sitting on the ground working his way through a pile of old puzzles that the family kept on the lowest shelf of the living room. Even then, he approached this task with a singular focus, never taking more than a few minutes to complete each puzzle, no matter how many pieces or how complex the image was.

His father, still smelling of yesterdays beer while working on today's buzz, sat in a chair (His Spot), looking at him with the same suspicion and bemusement (with just a hint of disappointment) that would characterise every look he gave Sheldon until the day of his death. In one hand he held a bottle of beer and in the other he was fiddling with an old compass that his mother used to hide the old cover of _Hollywood Digest_ that sat on the table next to George's chair. It was an old, gold thing. Given to George by his father.

But, at that moment, Sheldon blinked down at the puzzles, once more painfully aware of his painfully pedestrian surrounds: the ratty carpet, the way the rug bunched next to the bookcase. It was almost too much to withstand.

"I've finished all the puzzles," he announced with a frown.

"Then play with some of your other toys, boy."

He hadn't really been speaking to his father. Not really. All he'd been trying to do was articulate a problem that needed to be solved. But, George Cooper Snr. didn't like being corrected and Sheldon had felt his belt enough times to be keen to avoid making his father unhappy. While he didn't want to openly antagonise his father, even as a child he had not been able to stop himself.

"I don't want toys," he said simply, not comprehending the way his father's face darkened. "I want to figure something out."

George took a swig of beer before throwing the compass on the ground next to Sheldon. "There you go. Figure that out."

"What is it?"

"It's a compass. Shows you where North is."

Sheldon stared down at the compass, lost for words as he watched the little quivering needle moving to face magnetic North. There, in the living room of his house in Galveston, Texas, Sheldon Cooper found a single point of order in chaotic reality. No matter how he twisted the contraption, the little needle unwaveringly pointed towards a single point on earth.[2] For the first time, he had found something that he didn't understand right away. For the first time, he had a puzzle that actually made him take pause for a moment.

From that moment, a new world opened up before him. But really, it was a multitude of worlds, incalculable dimensions. Day by day, in the attic of a house in Texas, a little boy appreciated for the first time the stately waltz of orbiting binary stars and the frantic dance of subatomic quarks.[3]

That thirst to learn more, that unwavering desire to _understand_, to _make sense of_, to hold the entire universe in his hand and know its terrifying beauty: that desire became the single point that Sheldon Cooper marched towards, compass in hand.

For years, that moment of thrilling discovery that there was something more than the everyday that he could see in his painfully suburban house sustained him through the torment of high school (completed at record speed) and all the way to university (still a scrawny 14 year old wearing a Flash t-shirt and babbling about science whenever someone tried to shake his hand).

No matter how bewildering the people around him became, no matter how unpleasant it was to have his lunch stolen, his stomach punched and his comments tittered at, that mystifying, thrilling moment of discovery was enough to make it worth it.

Science was who he was. His work was his entire identity. He worked the way others made music. He made realities appear through simple math. He was blessed with inspiration; he had always felt it.[4] But, the only time he felt truly humbled was when he stumbled upon another mystery, another hurdle, standing between him and the ultimate goal: the single formula that would make the universe make sense.[5] It was this goal that consumed him. He worked because it was the most natural thing in the world; it was the only thing that made sense.

Until his best friends had picked up his world, shaken it twice.

In three months, Howard, Raj and (this still brought a pang) Leonard had taken this identity and torn it neatly in half.

They had their excuses, of course. He was insufferable. He was a total dick(tator) and Dick(ensian). But even as they arrived in Texas to take him home, even as they apologised to him – and he tiredly forgave them because it was easier to do that then try to start over – he couldn't help but feel like the little kid in the front row of his high school class who was trying to figure out why they were laughing at him.

"We're glad you decided to come back, buddy," Leonard had said, his leg jiggling in his impatience to get home. He smiled at his much taller friend and pressed his hand to Sheldon's shoulder in what he assumed to be a sign of supportiveness.

Sheldon had not taken his eyes off the arrival and departure board at the airport. "Take your hand off my shoulder, please."

Then, without looking at his friends, he hurried to the departure gate.

But he had come back. He hadn't had a choice.

What else was there to do but pick up where he left off? And so, he arrived home, put his bag down, and went to work.

And there he stayed, forgetting to eat and shower, hunched over the whiteboards that littered his office.

"He's just being _Sheldon_," Leonard reassured the guys at their usual lunch table – his eyes glancing guiltily at the empty chair next to him.

"Yeah, creepy and obsessive is wired into the Sheldon Cooper DNA," Howard said with a grin.

"I don't know, dude," Raj said doubtfully. "I think we might have broken him."

"We didn't break him," Leonard said quickly.

"Yeah," Howard agreed quickly, staring contemplatively at his burger. "The guy was broken _long_ before we even met him."

Even as they spoke, he worked. But it was different, now.

He wasn't marvelling before the mysteries of the universe. He wasn't working towards that single point that had been his focus for years.

He was working for his life. And his head was nearly underwater.

* * *

><p><em><strong>15 October 2009, 1.00am<strong>_

_**2311 N. Los Robles Ave, Pasedena**_

Penny Marshall trotted up the three flights of stairs to the fourth floor of her building, calves aching after a seven-hour shift, thinking about how much better her life would be in an hour when she had thoroughly soaked herself in the bath.

Apart from trying to discover whether it was possible for someone's head to explode with boredom through first-hand research and having the calves of Lance Armstrong after years of long shifts and long walks upstairs, there was very little Penny could complain about.

For the first time in her life, she was dating a _nice guy_. A _good_, _smart_ guy. Leonard Hofstadter was not the sort of guy who would leave her waiting at home on Valentine's Day while wearing nothing but edible underwear while he went to spread his seed amongst every skanky bitch he could find in Hollywood. Leonard Hofstadter treated her with respect. Leonard Hofstadter could scarcely believe his good luck in convincing her to date him.

And she had to admit that despite a little hiccup that first night: that sense of awkward wrongness that must have been a product of having sex with a close friend (_right?_) – Leonard had been an exemplary boyfriend. He had even given her a snowflake from the North Pole. Even the memory made her smile. It was so typical of Leonard to take something a fragile and transient as a snowflake and insist on making it last forever.

He was a special guy. He did things for her no other man had even considered doing.

So what if he didn't challenge her? It was nice not to fight. And if sometimes she found herself struck with a queer sense that something was missing – well, if there was, she could do without it.

She was already visualising the luxurious bath salts she would be relaxing in when she climbed up the final flight of stairs, when she noticed a strange figure slumped next to the front door of apartment 4A.

It took her a moment to realize that the slumped figure dozing outside the door was Sheldon. A moment more to rush up the stairs and shake his shoulder.

"Sheldon, sweetie – wake up."

It was not until she was crouched next to him that she saw that he was not in fact asleep. At least, not physically. His arms were wrapped tightly around his bent legs and his eyes when they met hers were darkened with exhaustion. She noticed faint stubble on his chin and saw that his usually immaculate hair was rumpled as if he had been running his hands through it.

For a brief, insane moment, Penny imaged reaching out and smoothing down the hair. But she quickly disregarded the thought, imagining the hundred different ways he'd find to freak out if she so much as tried. Instead, she merely sat at eye level, forgetting for the moment her tired legs.

"Are you locked out?"

His eyes were darting around in the space before him and she wondered whether he had even heard her – Vulcan hearing or not.

Ever since the boys had gotten back from the Arctic, Sheldon had been acting strangely (_stranger_, she mentally corrected herself). The fact was that she had scarcely seen him since Leonard had collected him from his mother's house in Texas. She knew that he was spending most of his time at the University. Probably trying to recover from the embarrassment that they had caused him by falsifying his data.

Penny was embarrassed to admit to herself that she hadn't spared him much thought those first few weeks. It had been a time of such potential, when she and Leonard first got together. She had been glad that his annoying whack-a-doodle flatmate was nowhere to be seen as she got to know Leonard as a Boyfriend rather than a Friend.

But, as the time passed, Penny couldn't help but notice that Sheldon Cooper left a sizable hole that was not easily filled by the strained conversations of Howard and Raj. Even when it was just Leonard and her, it was strange not to have to accommodate a 29 year old boy genius who couldn't stand not to get his own way. Sometimes, when the conversation was dwindling, Penny almost missed his withering retorts, delivered with such matter-of-fact bluntness.

"_I'd let you read it, Penny, but unfortunately there are no illustrations of puppies to help you grasp the concepts when you hit words you don't understand."_

"_Was the starfish wearing boxer shorts? Because you might have been watching Nickelodeon."_

"_Yes. In 1917, when Albert Einstein established the theoretic foundation for the laser in his paper 'Zuer Quantentheorie de Strahlung', his fondest hope was that the resultant device be bitchin'." _

The few times she had seen him, he had been different. There were fewer patronising explanations, fewer impassioned speeches, and absolutely no '_Bazingas!_'

Gone were the days when he would demand that they recreate historical events by replacing one of the key figures with a killer robot. Instead, he sat in His Spot and ate his dinner in near silence. It wasn't even the pointed silence of someone trying to punish his friends. It was the silence of someone disappearing into themselves. His monosyllabic responses were disconcerting in their own right.

In some ways, it was easier to ignore the profound change in him when he was not around. Presently, Penny felt a strange and crushing guilt at the sight of the brilliant Sheldon Cooper sitting on his own door mat and hugging his long legs against his chest, as if trying to take up a little less space in the universe.

"No," he said finally.

It took her a moment to recall that she had asked whether he had been locked out.

"So what are you doing out here on the ground?"

Sheldon rested his head against the front door, clearly too tired to even feel frustrated at her questioning. "It was the nearest thing."

Penny bit her lip as he rubbed one of his eyes. "Sweetie, how long has it been since you slept?"

"Approximately seventy-seven hours."

With a decisive nod, Penny stood up. "Come on. I'm putting you to bed."

"If that was an attempt at innuendo, I am afraid that I am too tired to be a very good audience."

"No, Sheldon," she drawled, rolling her eyes. "That was not an attempt at innuendo. Come on." As she pulled him to his feet, she noticed that he was too exhausted to even complain about her touch at the crook of his elbow. Naturally tactile, she held on a little longer than she usually would have. It was not until they reached the couch that she realized she was all but carrying him.

He spared a glance at His Spot, but she knew that if let him rest there, he would sleep where he sat. She intuited that he wouldn't want to sleep so publicly. So, she guided him to his bedroom, mumbling at him to lift his foot when he hit the step leading to the hallway. She paused for a moment at his bedroom door, glancing at his haggard profile, wondering when he would tell her to let him go on alone.

He finally seemed to remember himself when he crossed the threshold. "You're in my room. People can't be…"

"Finish that thought and I'll drag you downstairs and let you sleep on a street corner," she said sweetly.

The fight seemed to go out of him. His eyes were all but closed, his shoulders slumped. So she opened the door and sat him on the foot of his bed.

"There you go," she said brightly. "Now you just have to get into your pyjamas and go to sleep." He was staring at his hands. "Sheldon, come on. You need to sleep."

It must have been something about the light in the room, but when he looked up into her eyes, he seemed remote and mysterious. It was moments like this that Sheldon ceased to be a lost little boy in her eyes and she could see a flash of what he could become: the Nobel laureate, damaged, wise and always seeking for something just out of reach.

In moments like this, the sheer scale of that brain of his terrified her. It made her feel small. How could she ever plumb the depths of him?

But, that was not the nature of their friendship; she was not there to meet him on an academic level. She was there to make sure that he didn't die of exhaustion before he had a chance to figure out what the deal was with those string-thingies. So, she pulled out his Wednesday pyjamas and put them on the bed next to him.

"Get changed," she said gently, before turning to move away from him. "Go to sleep."

But, before she could move away, he did possibly the last thing she would ever have expected him to do: he reached out and loosely grasped her wrist. The shock of it sent a strange reverberation down her arm.

"Help me," he said simply, in a ragged whisper.

For a moment, she considered telling him no – always keen not to let him get away with any more than she had to. But, one glance at his face and she didn't have the heart to tell him 'no.' Not to mention the fact that she couldn't remember a time when he had asked for help; he never liked to think of the things they did for him as favours. Obligations? Yes. Common sense? Yes. But favours? Certainly not.

So, swallowing and clearing her throat, she stood in the v created by his long legs and pulled his t-shirt over his head. She watched as his pale skin turned to gooseflesh in the cool night air. It was so strange to see his lean chest that she had to consciously remind herself to look away. But she had to – the sight was too captivating, too oddly beautiful in the dark – so she passed him his pyjama top and turned around, staring at the wall and counting her heartbeats.

"You may turn around now, Penny."

She turned around and saw that he had finished dressing for himself. She was oddly relieved; she didn't think she could have withstood the indignity of helping him get into his pants. A part of her had been waiting for him to shout '_Bazinga!' _during this entire interlude.

But, now he was climbing into bed and her aching calves were crying out for attention. Not knowing what to say as she stood over him, regarding the purplish tinge to his eyelids as he settled into his vampiric pose.

"You missed Halo night," she said, eventually, mentally groaning at the lameness of her contribution to the silence of his bedroom.

"Change is the essential process of all existence," he said simply, eyes closing and grip on reality giving way.

Penny frowned. "What's that? Like…Einstein?"

Even as his grip on the waking world gave way, he offered her the ghost of a smile. "Better: Spock," he said simply. "Goodnight, Penny."

She stood there looking down at him for a moment, before exiting the strange little scene she had stumbled upon. It wasn't until she closed his bedroom door behind her that she thought to say, "Goodnight, Sheldon."

One thing was certain: Leonard was crazy if he thought everything was fine with Sheldon. Even as she settled down into the tub, she couldn't help but remember the look of abject exhaustion on his face.

* * *

><p><em><strong>17 October 2009, 2.30am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A **_

He is home, but he is not really there. His mind is somewhere else: travelling on the coat tails of those neutrinos and quarks that he would follow to the end of the galaxy.

He stands at the whiteboard, writing and rewriting, muttering and moving about.

She pulls herself out of Leonards arms – feeling oddly suffocated in his tight embrace. She pads down the hallway. She makes him tea that is ignored and goes cold on the coffee table. She reads her magazines at the counter, not talking to him, not making a noise. Trying to tell him – through osmosis, through her impish smiles and raised eyebrows – that he has a friend who cares about him.

Through the exasperated sighs, she could tell he is grateful for some company.

He is ripping something out of himself. He is bending the universe to his will.

And she is there for him. Whether he likes it or not.

While Leonard sleeps in the next room. The deep, restful slumber of the nice guy who got the girl.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 November 2009, 9.30am<strong>_

_**Caltech**_

Rajesh Koothrappali knew that today was going to suck.

He knew this the moment that he woke up in front of his television with a stiff neck and a mouth that felt like sandpaper.

He had known that it would be a mistake to stay up late the evening before, but the _Sex and the City _marathon had been too tempting to resist. And of course, he had fallen asleep where he sat – dreams full to the brim of love found and lost, shoes and friendship. Which, in due course, meant that he had missed his alarm and was now monumentally screwed.

Sheldon Cooper did not suffer tardiness willingly. Especially after a week away at a conference. The guy had a Vulcan work ethic.

He'd be the recipient of a strike at the very least. And now that Sheldon was his de facto employer the threat of strikes held more weight than ever before.

He hurried to the office he now shared with Sheldon, already regretting the stale Danish he had purchased en route and couldn't help but remember the look of horror on Howard's face when he had heard that Raj would be working with their eccentric friend.

"What else am I meant to do, dude? Either I work for Sheldon or I go back to India."

"I don't think we've fully explored the possibility of a sham marriage yet," Howard had reasoned. He had even gone so far was to post a personal ad on Raj's behalf: _Wanted: Wife for a selectively mute Indian man with an unhealthy obsession with chick flicks. American citizenship required. Fatties need not apply._ Suffice to say that it had not helped matters.

It was easier to tell Howard – to tell everyone, really – that it was a matter of necessity. But the fact of the matter was that as much as a douche as Sheldon could be, working with him was the most intellectually stimulating experience of Raj's life. Their work on the string theory implications of gamma rays from dark matter annihilations was quite simply the most thrilling project Raj had ever been involved in. And as Sheldon seemed only vaguely interested in it, focused as he was on his own increasingly bizarre formulae, Raj had been given utter freedom to investigate the matter himself.

He remembered how it had been when Leonard and Sheldon had worked together they had come to physical blows. Poor Leonard, never feeling good enough for praise, for love. How had it must have been for him to work with someone like Sheldon. But Raj suffered from no such burden.

"_I've had enough of your condescension. Maybe I didn't go to college at eleven, like you. Maybe I got my doctorate at 24 rather than 16. But you are not the only person who is smarter than everyone else in this room." _

When Raj did sit down with Sheldon, humbly presenting the fruits of his labours, his friend would sit quietly, allowing Raj to reason his way through – guiding him gently through the layers of analysis he had never even considered. Sheldon may have been a royal pain in the ass socially, but when it came to work, he was possibly the most useful resource that Raj had ever come across.

It was kind of like being in a scene of _The Beautiful Mind_. Except slightly less crazy. Slightly.

Even if he had been able to concede that working with a mind such as Sheldon's was invigorating, he certainly could never have told Howard how touched he had been when Sheldon had offered up space in his office – offered up part of his funding simply because Raj had needed help.

He was relieved that their Arctic stunt hadn't ruined their friendship with Sheldon forever. But, a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that Sheldon _should_ have been angrier with them. There was a line, and they had crossed it by tampering with his work.

They may have collectively rolled their eyes when he went on and on about his work and its significance, but when you got right down to it all it had taken was an email from Sheldon to members of the faculty at Caltech, claiming that he had proven string theory, and they had believed him 100%. Some of the smartest guys in the country had assumed that Sheldon had proven string theory, just because he'd said it.

And now, those very same men snickered at him when he walked passed. The arrogant genius had been reduced to the kid in class that everyone loves to pick on – to the extent that he now expected it.

But when Raj had needed him, he had stepped up. Because he had his own strange sense of morality: a determined commitment to doing the Right Thing, however he perceived it.

With a half-smile, Raj knocked three times on the door of their office before letting himself in – no longer minding that arriving at 9.30am would probably result in a lecture from Dr Sheldon Cooper about the importance of discipline and dependability in the world of physics.

When there was no answer, Raj frowned and pushed open the door to find Sheldon standing hunched before a white board, scribbling furiously. There had to be at least fifteen of them in this tiny office. The room was a total mess. Papers and whiteboards covered every available surface.

"I like what you've done with the place, dude," Raj joked, not really expecting to get a response.

Sheldon kept writing.

"Didn't you hear me knock?"

There was no answer. The manic scribbling on the white board reached an even more fevered pitch.

"Have you been here all night?"

Raj peered over his shoulder at the almost incomprehensible formulae on the board. He glanced at Sheldon's face. In short, he looked terrible. He even had stubble. Raj hadn't been certain that Sheldon could even grow facial hair until those fateful months in the Arctic.

"Sheldon," he said firmly. "I think you need to take a break."

At that, Sheldon whirled around to face him. "No _Raj_," he spat. "I do not need a break. I need answers. I need to make sense of all of _this_."

Raj reeled back, until the corner of the desk jabbed him in the back. "You don't have to find all the answers today," he reasoned weakly.

Sheldon shook his head, before turning back to his board. "It's the only way."

"Only way…what?"

Still facing the board, Sheldon spoke in a tired but focused voice. "It's the only way I will ever be taken seriously again."

Raj's stomach clenched. His body felt cold and his face felt hot. Sheldon must have been beyond exhausted to admit something that came that close to being human emotion. Raj had always suspected that there were real live feelings underneath that Vulcan exterior. Hell – even Spock had lost it at Kirk when he'd been pushed to breaking point. God, that was a good movie.

Raj shook his head, trying to focus. He had never been that good at dealing with Sheldon when he was like this. Leonard tended to coddle him to make life easier. But, Penny had always been the one to crack the whip. What would Penny do in this situation?

"Sheldon," Raj said with surprising authority. "If you don't sit down and take a break, I'm going to call your mother."

Sheldon froze at that. He turned his head slightly. "You wouldn't."

"My phone's in my hand, dude."

Slowly, as if standing before a large predator, Sheldon turned around to face Raj. "Very well. I will take a break." He says the word 'break' as if it is the most distasteful thing in the world.

Raj grins to himself in triumph as Sheldon's shaking hands put the cap back on his whiteboard marker. Sheldon reached out for his desk chair, but to his surprise, he found that his hand missed the back of the chair. Frowning and swallowing twice, he reached out again, this time stumbling slightly when he misses.

"I seem to be suffering from a slight vertigo and decreased muscle coordination," he mused absently, his eyes vague and his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to swallow.

"Are you okay?"

Sheldon's usually piercing eyes settled dully on Raj's own. "Actually I believe I'm about to pass out."

And, with that, Sheldon collapsed on the ground.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 November 2009, 9.20am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

Leonard Hofstadter knew that he should probably get up and go to work. But these days (on the right side of the '_Before Penny_' and '_After Penny_' timeline) it was easy to justify lying right here in his bed, next to the gorgeous blonde he had never truly believed he could get.

He could lie here for hours, just staring at her. What did he care about lasers and comic books? None of it made him feel this good: feel as if he were a man, feel like after all these years of being a _nice guy_ was paying dividends.

And so in a hundred tiny ways, he compromised on those tiny things that he knew she'd find unpalatable. When Warren Ellis had come to the comic book store, he had politely declined – even though a part of him was itching to have his copy of Doktor Sleepless signed. He had made his bedroom more "Penny-friendly" – hiding the action figures, the miniaturized city of Kandor, and the posters. And yet, not knowing the first thing about interior design, he hadn't had a clue what to replace it with. So, he'd left it blank. His room could have been in a catalogue or standing on display in Ikea.

Truth be told, he preferred staying in her room, when he could be surrounded by Penny, drown in Penny – let all of those colours wash over him and make him feel like he was a part of that glittering world that he had only ever admired from afar. Penny, though, always seemed to prefer sleeping at his place – slipping away into her own mysterious world and closing her door behind her.

He was a part of it now, he reassured himself. So what if she hadn't yet introduced him to her friends? It would happen. Now that he had taken care of some of the more objectionable of his habits, he knew that it would happen even sooner.

_Pathetic. All of you_.

Even now, the question she had levelled at him – _you're grown men! How can you play with toys?_ –still pained him. The thought of Sheldon standing at the top of the stairs, brandishing a sword, used to make him smile. His best friend hadn't wanted him to give away everything that meant something to him. Sheldon, in his own, bat-crap crazy way, stood up for him.

But for some reason, the memory made him feel a swoop of guilt. It was easier not to think of Sheldon at all then to remember the look on his face when he found out that his best friend in the world had tricked him to make life easier for himself. Sheldon didn't lie. Sheldon didn't trick people – apart from the occasional good-natured '_Bazinga'_. What most people would understand as a necessary evil, Sheldon would never understand. Because he would, quite simply, never have done it himself.

Then again, Sheldon had never had a friend like Sheldon.

And Sheldon had never known what it was like to have a girl like Penny.

Every now and then, though, he would feel a pang at the thought of the boxes in the hallway cupboard that contained his most prized possessions. It slumped next to his cello.

But, then he would touch her smooth skin and everything would make sense again.

He propped himself up on his elbow, smiling down at her. She was more magnificent every time he saw her – even now with her eyes distracted, absently patting the hand that clutched her so tightly.

"What are you thinking about?" Leonard tried to keep his voice from wavering – sometimes it betrayed him and showed all of his insecurity and uncertainty.

He allowed himself imagine her possible responses: _You. Us_. _How happy I am. Kurt's body. How I wish you could wear contact lenses to bed. _

She turned over to face him, wrapping the sheet around herself. She scooted up the bed so that her back was against the headboard. Chewing her lip and regarding him with a worried look on her face.

"I'm thinking about Sheldon."

Well. He hadn't expected that.

"Sheldon?"

Wow. He'd sounded kind of hysterical when he'd said that.

"I'm worried about him, Leonard. Something's wrong."

"Really?" he said absently, heart beating a little faster. Of course, he had noticed something was wrong with Sheldon. But the thought of acknowledging his role in it was too much to stand.

_All you did was lie to me, destroy my dream and humiliate me in front of the whole university. _

"Ever since you guys got back - " she paused. They never mentioned the Arctic these days. It was easier that way. "Ever since the _thing,_ all he does is work. He doesn't even talk to anyone anymore."

"Lucky us," Leonard joked weakly.

But Penny was not in the mood for levity. She looked him hard in the eye.

"Leonard, I'm serious. I'm worried that if he keeps working like this - "

The phone call from Raj was a welcome distraction. Until, those familiar words came out of his mouth.

"Dude – it's Sheldon."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thank you for reading. This is my first time attempting the Big Bang universe. I'd like to apologise for any scientific inaccuracies in this. I have absolutely no background in it, so this is total guesswork. This is the beginning of what I hope to be an on-going story. Let me know what you think.

Thanks!

[1] Title of this story is taken from the Brian Greene novel, _The Elegant Universe._

[2] Based on a passage in Dennis Overbye's _Einstein in Love_.

[3] As above, [1].

[4] I have the feeling that this is a _West Wing _quote.

[5] Allow me to apologise for any inaccuracies in the science described here. I have taken liberties for the sake of storytelling.


	2. Chapter 2: Free Fall

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Two: Free Fall**

"_Misery is a vacuum. A space without air, a suffocated dead place, the abode of the miserable. Misery is a tenement block, rooms like battery cages, sit over your own droppings, lie on your own filth. Misery is a no U-turns, no stopping road. Travel down it pushed by those behind, tripped by those in front. Travel it at furious speed though the days are mummified in lead. It happens so fast once you get started, there's no anchor from the real world to slow you down, nothing to hold on to. Misery pulls away from the brackets of life leaving you to free fall. Whatever your private hell, you'll find millions like it in Misery. This a town where everyone's nightmares come true."_

_- Written on the Body_, Jeanette Winterson

* * *

><p><em><strong>3 March 1991, 4.30pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

For the last four weeks, he has fetched the mail, buzzing with anticipation but still earnestly ensuring that his pale skin doesn't make contact with the rust of the mailbox.

But, when the letter finally arrives, he doesn't open it.

Hours pass and he stares at the A4-sized envelope. It is heavy. It is large. It is full of promise. But he examines it carefully in his spot in the attic. He runs his hands over the words that form the very centre of his identity:

_Mr Sheldon Cooper_

And there in the top right corner is the crest of the University of Texas.

He is not nervous. He feels absolutely nothing. But he has been sitting here for an hour, examining the package. His mother calls for him but he doesn't hear.

Then, for no outward reason at all, he nods his head and flips the envelope over in his lap. With steady hands, he neatly opens it and pulls out the stack of documents: the glossy brochure and the measly sheet of paper that reads:

_It gives me great pleasure to inform you_…

And with that, his life changes forever. Just like that, he becomes more than the skinny know-it-all who no one sits next to and who doesn't seem to notice.

He is eleven years old and doesn't realize that he's crying until the tears hit the page.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 November 2009, 9.20am<strong>_

_**Huntington Hospital**_

It is not the first time that Raj has been in a hospital. Once, he sat next to his grandmother for three days before she passed away. That had been a time of jubilation and sorrow, when the smell of spices and food had filled the room. His grandmother had seen each of her grandchildren one at a time. She had given them gifts and songs and memories to remember her by. There had been colour and light.

It had been nothing like this.

Raj sat completely still as he watched the point where tubes disappeared into Sheldon's forearm and listened to the _beep-beep-beep_ that told the world that his heart was still beating – would still beat, no matter what they did to him.

Raj had no illusions about how Sheldon had ended up in this hospital bed. They'd pulled away from him, not wanting to be reminded of the way he had looked when they told him what they had done.

_It's the only way I will ever be taken seriously again._

No matter how much he wanted to run out of the room, Raj forced himself to stay put.

And so, he had time to truly _see_ Sheldon in a way he hadn't – even when he'd sat across the table from him in Apartment 4A. He had never seen, until now, how exhausted his friend looked. How battered he was underneath that awesome arrogance. His eyes looked almost bruised. His cheeks were hollow. Lying totally still, he could have been a cadaver. But, on his forehead, there was a vibrant red gash where he had hit his head on his own desk when he fell. Otherwise, he was deathly still.

Feeling a strange swoop of panic, Raj leant forward to poke Sheldon hard in the arm (just to make sure that he hadn't slipped away somehow), when the door swung open and he jumped in shock.

" – because we're not family," Leonard was explaining gently.

"I don't care what they say," Penny cried in response, her hand clutching his elbow – her knuckles white. "We're all the family he has here! We don't even know if this is the right room - "

When her eyes fell on Raj, she fell silent.

Over the last few months, Leonard had somehow managed to master the art of looking passed his friends. It seemed to be a habit of his now; he never seemed to want to look them straight in the eye. Perhaps he was worried what he would see reflected back in their eyes.

"I guess this is the right room," he said lamely, studiously examining the wall behind Raj's head.

For a moment, the three of them stood in awkward silence. It seemed to go on and on. So, Raj turned once more to Sheldon.

Raj frowned deeply; he could feel Penny's eyes on him and for once he didn't feel awkward about not being able to speak to her. If anything, he almost resented her presence. If she were here, then for all intents and purposes Raj was not. And there were so many things he wanted to say in this moment.

(If only there was a beer handy.)

But, when he looked at Penny – hard in the face – he saw an expression on her face that made all his anger disappear.

She was staring at Sheldon with a look of frozen horror on her face. She looked so lost, so sad at the sight of him laid so low, that Raj felt himself deflate.

Unable to tear her eyes away from Sheldon's unconscious form, she took two steps forward – releasing her grip on Leonard's arm and leaving him standing rather uselessly at the door. From Raj's vantage point on the other side of the bed, he can see the emotions chasing each other across her face.

_Fierceness, regret, tenderness, anger, caring _– and something else that he couldn't quite articulate.

That primal protectiveness was something that Raj had always admired about Penny. While her constant _sweeties_ could be construed as insincere, Raj knew with total certainty that she would take a baseball bat to anyone who hurt one of her boys. Even him, the odd Indian boy who could barely speak to her.

Her eyes were welling up as she knelt next to the bed. For a moment, her hand hovered above Sheldon's – but she seemed to think better of touching him. Instead, she sat herself down in the chair next to his bed.

It was clear from her countenance that she would not be moving from this spot.

Raj was glad for Leonard's sake that he could see only her back. For his part, Raj stood up and strode purposefully over to Leonard, planting a hand firmly on his shoulder. Leaning close to his ear, he whispered words that they both knew didn't need uttering.

"We need to talk."

Leonard glanced at him sharply, but something in the set of his features indicated that he would not take no for an answer. Not that Leonard had ever been particularly good at saying no to anyone. So, he sighed heavily, before announcing to Penny: "We're going to call Mrs Cooper and Howard."

She didn't seem to hear them. Certainly she didn't turn around when they slid quietly out of the room, where all the things they couldn't say were waiting patiently.

Alone at last, Penny exhaled deeply and leaned forward in the chair, pressing her face to her palms. When she lifted her head, she was surprised to see tears on her palms. Wiping angrily at her eyes, she shook her head as if to clear it.

"Sheldon Cooper," she said fiercely, reaching out to take his hand (secretly hoping that his eyes would fly open and he would give her a strike for touching him). "If you don't wake up right now, I'm going to shred your Flash costume."

For better or worse, she was the sort of woman who believed in the power of magic and circumstance. With her incantation complete, she half-expected to see Sheldon's eyes open at that. But, she was destined to be disappointed. Penny Marhsall was not someone that commanded the respect of the universe. She was not someone who could control things.

All she could do was sit quietly next to the man who infuriated her – and who summoned the sort of fierce loyalty and protectiveness that lay deep within her.

Still the machine _beep-beep-beeped_ and the tall, brilliant man lay on his back and dreamed of stars and universes forming in grand bursts of light.

* * *

><p><em><strong>10 September 1991, 11.00am<strong>_

_**University of Texas**_

The entire universe had contracted into a single space: the blackboard at the front of his pure mathematics class. More specifically, Sheldon Cooper's universe had contracted into the proof that had been placed upon it as a gauntlet thrown at the PhD candidates. Fermat's Last Theorem.

His professor had smiled when he assured the undergraduates that they needn't worry about the proof. At least not until they finished their doctorates. The class had tittered and that had been that.

For everyone except him, of course. He had sat through the entire class with palms sweating as he stared at the figures that constituted the DNA of one the most difficult theorems in existence. He only half listened as the rest of the class laboured through the differential equations he had mastered during one afternoon in the library.

The class was over at last. The professor had scarcely finished his sentence when Sheldon stood up and walked directly over to the blackboard. All he could think about was doing what he had been aching to do all through class. He didn't understand how they could simply ignore the way it called out to be solved. He didn't understand how they would be able to sleep that night without knowing that they had found the answer.

As one, the class and its professor watched the odd little prodigy walk to the blackboard.

The other students – and even the professor – had been studiously ignoring his presence in the classroom. The first day of class he had come twenty minutes early to test all the chairs. That was pretty much the moment that his peers had agreed to give him a wide berth. For the professor, Sheldon Cooper was an unwelcome reminder that there was always someone younger and sharper waiting to replace you.

He was tall for his age, but he seemed tiny compared to the college-age kids surrounding him. His skin still had the translucence of youth; that pure whiteness that would disappear forever within the next two years when the first sign of facial hair appeared.

With singe-minded focus, he picked up a piece of chalk. As he wrote, he imagined that he was a being of pure spirit and mind. As he wrote, the rest of the room disappeared around him.

Then, quite suddenly, he was finished. He placed the chalk once more on the wooden shelf where he had found it and pulled out hand sanitiser for his dirty fingers. Without acknowledging anyone else, he walked out of the room in that familiar stiff canter that foreshadowed his impending growth spurt.

The room was utterly silent.

The professor was the first to walk to the board, mumbling to himself as his cheeks reddened – as if he had a fever. When he finished, he took off his glasses and wiped them vigorously on his light silk scarf.

"Well I'll be damned."

It had only taken the kid about five minutes.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 November 2009, 9.30am<strong>_

_**Huntington Hospital**_

They stood in front of the vending machine. It was well known that Raj was a stress-eater and Leonard sipped half-heartedly on a 7-Up.

"He's dehydrated and exhausted," Raj said solemnly, wiping his salty hands on his trousers. "They're giving him nutrition and hydration through the IV. He also knocked himself out on the desk when he collapsed."

Leonard leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Raj pressed on. "Dude, you should have seen him before it happened. He was demented. He kept scribbling away at his board and telling me that he couldn't stop because it was the only way he'd be taken seriously again."

Leonard glanced at the door to Sheldon's room; they were just outside. But, with Penny safely ensconced behind the closed door, Leonard felt free to sigh heavily.

"We apologised," he reasoned. "What else can we do?"

Raj gave him a hard look. "We could try to make it right."

Leonard had been about to say something, when his phone started ringing. He glanced down at the glass front and grimaced. "It's Sheldon's mother." He pressed the green button to answer. "Hi Mrs Cooper."

* * *

><p>Penny leaned her elbow on his bed, staring at his face.<p>

There were so many noises in the hospital. There were the machines connected to Sheldon's body. There was the hum of electricity. There was the murmuring voices of Leonard and Raj in the hallway. And outside – there was the occasional honk and screech of tyres.

Oddly, the many noises just made it more pronounced. Absent from it all was _his_ voice. That crazy, haughty voice with that odd and superior way of looking at things. It so often infuriated her. She had never imagined that she might miss it when it was gone.

Sheldon hated hospitals. Even in his dosing state, he seemed to be frowning slightly. Penny found herself wondering whether this time unconscious would mean that he lost his memory or something. Like in _Momento_. Maybe Sheldon would have to get his favourite physics equations tattooed to himself so that he doesn't forget them.

For some reason, the thought of Sheldon losing even one tiny IQ point in his massive brain made her chest fill with a strange panic.

"What do I have to do to make you wake up?" she asked him, looking for some kind of clue. Perhaps if she could find a way to make him open his eyes, she'd feel less guilty about allowing it to come to this. Perhaps if she woke him up, she could find a way to make it all up to him. She knew better than most people that the world wasn't kind to those creatures that walked around unprotected. And Sheldon had no sense of self-protection. He had no defence against the forces that made the earth such a dangerous, damaged place. And yet, he had been gifted with something else – a mind that could perhaps grasp the greatest secrets of the universe. But, he couldn't look after himself. That was for sure.. It was her job to look after him.

"What do I have to do to make you open your eyes?"

She fancied for a moment that she could see him peering at her through his eyelashes – that coy look that always told her what was coming. _Will you sing soft kitty for me?_

She imagined crossing her arms before him. _Soft kitty's for when you're sick. You're not sick._

_Unconscious in hospital is a _kind_ of sick._

"_Soft kitty, warm kitty,_" she sang, hand above his head on the pillow. "_Little ball of fur._"

Slowly, as if aware that she was doing something she shouldn't, she allowed her hand to creep down the pillow until it reached his cowlick. With no more force than a butterfly landing on a leaf, she ran her hand over his forehead, smoothing down his messy hair.

Later, she would tell herself that it was a coincidence. But, the moment that her hand touched his forehead, the steady _beep-beep-beep_ of the machine increased in tempo and his eyelids fluttered open.

"Penny," he said matter-of-factly, as if it were no surprise that she was sitting there.

* * *

><p>"We'll tell him, Mrs Cooper. See you soon." Leonard hung up the phone with more force than was strictly necessary. It seemed to be the order of the day: people expecting him to be mother, maid and keeper to his 29-year old flatmate.<p>

It was ridiculous, really. By doing no more than signing a room mate agreement, he had signed himself up to waiting hand and foot upon Sheldon Cooper – who by all accounts was one of the brightest minds in physics. And in all that time, he'd made – what? One mistake. One.

He felt bad about it – he really did. But, any other guy would have smothered Sheldon in his sleep by now. Leonard should have been put up for sainthood, in his humble opinion.

Not to mention that things were different now. _He_ was different. (He _was_). He got the girl. He deserved to catch a break rather than having Raj looking at him grimly.

Leonard found himself oddly irritated by everything around him. It had been building within him, this strange sense of being somehow hard-done by.

_(Maybe it's a guilty conscience_.)

Leonard pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

"Is she coming to visit?"

"Of course," Leonard responded, with only a hint of bitterness, mindful that it would never occur to Beverley Hofstadter to come to the hospital if he were injured.

Raj nodded seriously. "Maybe she can tell us what we can - "

"Oh for goodness sake," Leonard groaned. "We don't need to ask Mrs Cooper how to make it up to Sheldon. He's a grown man. We are all grown men. We apologised. It's over. It's about time we stopped treating him like he's coated in cotton wool all the time. Maybe if we'd started a long time ago, we wouldn't be stuck playing Halo every Wednesday night because God forbid anyone do something that doesn't conform to the way Sheldon Cooper thinks that life should be."

It was only when he'd finished his little speech that Leonard realised the degree to which he'd raised his voice. He stood there, in the hospital corridor, his chest heaving with the words a part of him had wanted to say for as long as he'd lived with Sheldon.

"Dude," Raj said, dazedly looking over Leonard's shoulder.

Leonard spun around to see an ashen-faced Penny standing at the door to Sheldon's hospital room. The anger drained from him, replaced by mortification.

"Sheldon's awake," she said simply, glancing over her shoulder. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she seemed to think better of it. Every single person in that hallway knew that Sheldon's Vulcan hearing wouldn't have missed a single word of Leonard's outburst.

"That's great," he said nervously, eyes darting across her face, hoping desperately to see anything other than the acute disappointment that was plainly visible in her eyes.

"You should…call Mrs Cooper."

"Uh-huh," he said in a high-pitched voice he scarcely recognised. As she turned away, he felt a wave of panic that if she turned away from him now she would never come back. It was a familiar panic these days. "Penny…"

But she studiously avoided his eyes. Neither of them wanted to look too closely at the person he had been only minutes earlier. "Make the call, Leonard," she said simply before closing the door behind her.

"I'll do it," Raj muttered, hurrying up the hall and away from him.

Quite unexpectedly, Leonard found himself completely alone.

* * *

><p>The jubilation of a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by an awkward silence that Penny didn't quite know what to do with.<p>

When his eyes had opened and she had said his name, she had said his name – almost too softly to hear. It was jarring to find him back in the room when her mind had scarcely gotten used to him being gone. She had said his name as if it were no more than an exhalation. And he had frowned for a moment, puzzling over her as if she were in a Petri dish, even as she towered over his bed, staring down at him lying prone on his back.

Not finding any answer in her face, still mouthing his name like a fish out of water, he looks around him. Already his eyes are sharp and insightful. He does not need to ask where he is. The instruments around him he could undoubtedly build from scratch. Instead, furrows his brow and looks at her again.

"What are you doing here?"

"We were so worried about you, sweetie," she says warmly, deftly dodging the question. It is the question she asks herself sometimes: what brought her into this world of theirs? What business is it what these four bright boys she was never meant to meet think and feel and say and want?

It was never clearer to her then when she looked at Sheldon: they were so different. Sometimes when she paused and thought about it, or he asked something as simple as _What are you doing here?_ she would find herself without any answer for him. All she had ever wanted, when she left Nebraska, was to live in a world without maps.[1] She had wanted to take risks, to fall in love, to move around in a strange, primal dance across the world.

People thought her vain, and perhaps she was in some ways. Certainly, as an actress, she knew what it was to be desirable and beautiful in front of a discerning eye. But, she had never wanted to come to the end of her life being merely a pretty girl. She wanted to die containing the richness of everything she had seen: she wanted to be the sum of everything she had tasted, every man who had touched her, every character she had climbed into. She wanted her adventures to be marked on her skin.[2]

But something had kept her in Pasadena all this time. She wished that she could say it was Leonard. But the fact of the matter was that it was all of them: Leonard, Raj, Howard – and, of course, Sheldon. They were without doubt the most unusual and captivating people she had ever met. She had gone from a wandering spirit to a member of their little circle. Sometimes she wondered what she was waiting for. But, whenever she thought about leaving – picking up and disappearing the way she had that one night in Nebraska, she would picture the way they would react.

It was not Leonard's willingness to follow her wherever she went that kept her in once place. At least, not just that. Sometimes, it was the thought of Sheldon becoming more isolated, more rigid then he had been before. They fought. They became exasperated with each other. But they had become a hidden presence in each other's lives.

Penny could not explain why she felt responsible for him. Not rationally, at least. So, faced with his quizzical face, she found herself struggling to explain herself. It was something that could never quite be articulated aloud. She was here because he was. It was as simple and complicated as that.

"I should tell the others that you're awake," she said weakly. "They'll be so - "

"You were sitting with me while I slept," he interrupted, still staring at her with those blue eyes that she fancied might be able to enter her thoughts.

She nodded.

"My Meemaw used to sit with me when I was sick."

At the mention of his beloved Meemaw, his eyes became dreamy and unfocused. Penny felt relief flood her stomach. This Sheldon she could handle: that child-like creature who had told her once that he desperately wanted to go to Disneyland. This Sheldon didn't look at her with ancient eyes and make her question her place in the world. This Sheldon didn't frighten her.

"Would you like me to call her?" Penny asked gently.

He shook his head. "I don't want her to worry."

Her heart melted slightly at the fact that someone as selfish as Sheldon could be so protective of his grandmother. She smiled warmly at him, only just resisting the urge to smooth down his hair again before striding over to the door to tell Leonard and Raj about the good news.

_God forbid anyone do something that doesn't conform to the way Sheldon Cooper thinks that life should be…_

When Penny closed the door against Leonard's ugly words, she turned around to face him, trying to think of anything that would blunt the force of them.

But his face was already totally blank.

It was strange, she mused in the thick silence of the room, how these small betrayals could shock. They all knew of grand betrayal – of the horrible acts of war and cruelties that made history. But, it was these tiny disappointments that were enough to build those walls a little higher: to make you a little less willing to trust in the goodness of others.

If it were anyone else, she would have hugged them and told them that they would always be okay. But, this was Sheldon Cooper. So, walked over to him, put one hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Sheldon looked down at her hand on his shoulder, his entire body rigid as a bed frame. His eyes traced her arm all the way back up to her face.

"Yes, he does Penny," he said stiffly. "But it's alright."

She wanted to disagree with him – to tell him that it wasn't alright in the least. But, his eyes were distant as he focused on the wall he faced. She knew that he was uncomfortable with extended bodily contact. So she meekly pulled her hand away.

As he pretended to be fine with it.

And she pretended not to see the misery on his face. Even as it sucked the air from the room.

* * *

><p>[1] <em>The English Patient<em> by Michael Ondaatje inspired various passages.

[2] As above.

A/N: largely a place-holder chapter – but a necessary one. Also, shorter than usual, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long. Next chapter will feature Nursemaid!Penny and Sheldon's further descent. I hope you enjoyed the flashbacks; they will probably be a common feature. Thank you to everyone who reviewed.


	3. Chapter 3: The Machinery of Night

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Three: The Machinery of Night**

"_I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by_

_madness, starving hysterical naked,_

_dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn_

_looking for an angry fix,_

_angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly_

_connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night…"_

"Howl" by Allen Ginsberg

* * *

><p><em><strong>23 June 1999, 3.15pm<strong>_

_**Bellevue, Nebraska**_

She is in her hiding place: where the sound of her mother and father fighting is not quite audible. They are arguing about Jimmy and why he does the bad things he does. Penny doesn't know it for sure, but she thinks that some people are just like that. It's no one's fault. But she never says it out loud.

Instead, she sits with her knees to her chin, sitting in the loft above the hay bales and reading a magazine she stole from the local store. There'll be hell to pay if her father finds out, but for now the entire world has shrunk: it is glossy pages of a magazine, it is those achingly beautiful women wearing gowns and walking down the red carpet.

The boys who work the farm are outside. She races with them. They smile at her and she runs passed them, cheeks red. Embarrassed and not certain why.

She longs to take an Alice leap out of this barn, this life, and into the pictures in the magazine. Some nights, when she sits on the back porch and listens to her mother through the screen door (even though it hasn't had a screen in it since Jimmy punched it out, they still called it that). The sky is clear and the stars are burning – but the only stars she cares about are signing stars on the pavement of Hollywood. They are the women who are poised and perfect in front of cameras.

They are so different from the women she sees around her: her simple, limited sister and her sad, distant mother.

As she cooks dinner, her mother listens to the little CD player that her husband had given her before he had decided that Jimmy's problems were her fault. Every night she listens to the same CD.

"Joni Mitchell understands me, Pen," she'd say dreamily. "She understands what it's like for a woman."

Penny wants so desperately to be a woman, so she listens to the lyrics that just make her feel sad.

_I wish I had a river_

_I could skate away on. _

_I'm so hard to handle_

_I'm selfish and sad_

_I lost the best baby I ever did have. _

She would like to ask where her mother would skate to if she had the chance, but she could never quite find the words.

That afternoon, she is thinking about that song, remembering how sad her mother looked and wishing desperately that she could slip out of her skin and become someone else.

Her mind is drifting, when a rustling underneath her rooftop nook draws her attention.

It is her mother. Standing alone, hands pressed to her stomach. Waiting, expectant, and nervous.

She is about to call out to her when she sees one of the boys from outside come up behind Marissa. She is about to call down to her mother, to warn her – there is something strange and predatory in the boys face.

But, then, his arms are around her mother's waist. They are kissing the back of her neck and Marisa is smiling and laughing and turning around.

"I couldn't wait to see you," he murmurs into her mouth.

"Good things come to those who wait," she responds, her hands pulling his face to hers.

She looks young and happy. Penny watches from above as her mother kisses him again – promises to meet him in the same spot later that evening. Penny watches as her mother straightens her skirt and sashays out of the barn, leaving the boy – Stephen, eighteen years old from Omaha – with a heaving chest, desperately wanting more.

Penny stays there for a long time, cheeks burning red. But, when she finally climbs down the ladder and walks passed the boys working outside the barn, she doesn't run. She smiles at them from under her eyelashes. Their admiring glances warm her.

Years later, when it is her turn to adjust her skirt after the gropes from another farmhand, she wonders whether she left her childhood in that barn that afternoon in June when she discovered that the hidden world in her mother was the same as her own.

_Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on._

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 November 2009, 7.00pm<strong>_

_**Huntington Hospital**_

It happened so gradually that they scarcely noticed it.

It started with a sharp look at Leonard and a hand on his back as he shied away from Sheldon's hospital room. Even after the harsh words that he had said and Sheldon had overheard, Penny would not allow Leonard to slip away from him. It was the Nebraskan farmer's daughter in her: you didn't shy away from this sort of confrontation. You did the wrong thing? Then you front up to it.

So, she had stood there grimly as Leonard had uhm-ed and ah-ed his way awkwardly through _best wishes_ and _feel better soons_, while Sheldon lay quietly with that same bland expression on his face that Penny had come to recognise as symptomatic of the wall that was slowly being built behind his eyes.

"Thank you Leonard," he said simply, dismissively. "I appreciate that."

It was this illusion of civility that scared Penny; Sheldon was not one for falsehoods. It was as if the Sheldon she saw before her was a caricature. It was an illusion of Sheldon – like looking at him in a photograph.

Why should that scare her? He was, without doubt, the most infuriating man she had ever met. The complex web of his eccentricity kept them from moving freely. He was sarcastic and a know-it-all. He regularly made her feel like an ill-educated yokel.

Yet still she strived to ensure that his order at the Cheesecake Factory was _just_ so. She guarded his spot on the couch. She sang freaking soft kitty to him when he was feeling sick. She drove him around Pasadena. She took him to the comic book store. She did whatever she had to so that he would be protected from the truth that she had learned somewhere between leaving the house she shared with Kurt with tears pouring down her face: the world is not kind to people who walk around unprotected. She never wanted that bizarre internal world of his to be destroyed by people who would take advantage of him. And he, seeing things so differently, didn't seem to realize how quickly and completely his candle could be snuffed by a world that never seemed to care.

He suffered through their attempts to humour him. What seemed unreasonably exacting to the rest of them was, for Sheldon, an unbelievable compromise that even he couldn't believe that he was making. He lowered his standards so that they could _just_ strain to meet them. He did it because for some reason he didn't understand, they were his friends. And he hadn't imagined that he'd ever have friends.

And in return, he set about planning their lives for them – always convinced that he was helping them avoid some horrible fate. He painted exits in glow-in-the-dark paint. He made them take drills so that they would never be hurt by the invisible, unlikely threats Sheldon came up with while ignoring the obvious ones. He had even given Penny a copy of _The Apocalypse Survival Guide by Dr Sheldon Cooper, PhD_, which provided a number of scenarios and contingency plans for their social group in the event of any extinction level events that may occur during their life times.

It was just the sort of insane sweetness that made Penny want to hug him tightly and protect him from anyone who would say something cruel to him.

But, instead she had nodded seriously, pressing the dossier to her chest. "I will study this."

"Good," he said, simply. "Because there will be a test."

She didn't know quite what to do now that he was lying in a hospital bed – he hadn't prepared her for this.

So, she simply did what he asked of her.

She called Howard and yelled at him to get his ass to the Hospital before she personally saw to it that he was incapable of procreating.

(He arrived ten minutes later wearing two different shoes on his feet).

She spoke to Mary Cooper – assuring her (at Sheldon's request) that there was no need to come to California. She would see to it that he was well looked after. She would be sure to call if things got out of hand.

And, when Sheldon was discharged, it seemed only natural that it was Penny who drove him home, who fussed over him and made him get into bed.

"I'm not a child," he complained with his doona at his chin.

"I told your mother that I'd look after you," Penny said imperiously. "Do you want me to call her and tell her that you're not letting me take care of you?"

His face grew thunderous at the hint of threat that was in her voice. But, he was trapped; his fear of his mother was enough to keep him as docile as possible. "When can I get out of bed?"

Penny held his eye stubbornly. "When you can stand up by yourself without collapsing."

"But I need to work."

Leonard watched their interaction from the door of Sheldon's bedroom. "You have the rest of the week off," he said, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. "And Raj said he would bring you anything you need from your office."

"You see?" Penny said brightly, closing his curtains. "It'll be fine. I'll be here to help anyway I can."

"Because the world of physics has been waiting with bated breath to hear Penelope Marshall's insights into M-theory," he retorted sarcastically, with a sour look on his face even as sleep began to over take him. What a team we will make."

Penny rolled her eyes. "Go to sleep, Moonpie."

"No one calls me Moonpie, but - "

Penny closed the door before he could finish.

She found herself standing opposite Leonard. For an extended moment, they stared at each other wordlessly.

"You don't have to do all this, you know," Leonard said finally.

_I want to_, she thought.

"I promised his mother that I would."

Leonard shrugged, opening his mouth and closing it when he seemed to think better of his intended comment. He placed his hand on her lower back and conveyed her to the living room, not wanting to risk Sheldon overhearing him again. There, he regards Penny again, noting not for the first time, how shallow the depth of his vision was when it came to the inner workings of her mind. He longed to hold her close – always to be able to press her body to his. But, even in the moments when they were as close as two people could be, he would note the distance between them. Her beauty could belong to him, but her thoughts were as hidden to him as the words on the pages of a closed book.[1]

"What is it?" Penny asked, her hands on her hips. She hated how careful he was all the time – never wanting to say the wrong thing. He smoothed himself

"It's nothing," he said quickly. "Only…it's not really your responsibility to look after my crazy roommate."

She had heard him speak like this before, back when it had seemed like the fond long-suffering of a brother. But, something had changed in his tone. It didn't seem like a joke anymore. It disappointed her – the same way the way he seemed to be methodically deleting his interests from his life disappointed her. She had been attracted to the differences between them. But, these differences seemed to add to that towering insecurity that Leonard had never been able to rid himself of.

"I should go get changed," she said simply, giving him the briefest of kisses on the cheek before hurrying to his front door. She paused at the door, lingering on the threshold. "He's not just your crazy roommate, you know," she said quietly. "He's my friend. And…he's your friend to."

With that, she closed the door gently behind her.

"I know," Leonard said to no one in particular, feeling another uncomfortable wave of guilt. "I haven't forgotten."

* * *

><p><em><strong>28 September 1992, 12.00pm<strong>_

_**University of Texas**_

He watches the young men (and the occasional woman) from his class sit together, laughing and eating their lunches.

They eat sushi they buy from the university coop. They drink beer and slowly shake off the lingering sense of being the least popular kid in school. College is different; smart is cool and they have bright futures.

He sits on a seat in the dining hall with a thick book in front of him. He eats a lunch that his mother packed for him. She writes him a note every day.

_Jesus and I love you, Shelly. Don't go spending all day in the library. Try and make some friends.  
>Love, Momma<em>

He folds the note up seven times, mentally calculating as he halves the length and increases the thickness. 300mm long and 0.05mm thick. 150mm and 0.1mm. 75mm and 0.2mm.

He clutches the small square in his hand and looks around the room – they are used to his staring now. They are used to the strange lanky package that genius comes in. He is a novelty they roll out at parties, but not during the day when friendships form. Even the professors avoid him.

But, he has to do what his Momma says or he'll be sent back to school. So, with a long-suffering sigh he walks to the nearest table.

"Good afternoon," he says, scratching his knees that a knobbly and visible under his cargo shorts. He is holding his _Flash_ lunchbox.

"Good afternoon," one of the boys says with a sarcastic grin.

"May I join you?"

They exchange glances that he doesn't quite understand. Without cracking an expression, he bows slightly to them.

"I will let you confer with your companions," he says with a formality that is jarring from a twelve year old. He turns away slightly, counting the beams in the ceiling, noting their pressure points, remembering every reference he has read about the style of architecture.

"_He's just standing there_," the girl hisses. "_We have to let him sit down_."

"_I get enough of him in class_," the first boy groans.

"_Lunch is sacrosanct, Amelia_."

"Listen," the boy says as Sheldon dutifully turns around to face them once more. "We're actually done here. We were planning on going to the pub – and obviously you can't really come along to that. Sorry, man."

"Very well," he says. "Thank you for considering my request."

He walks back to his table and eats his lunch alone.

Each night, he reads about Frodo and Sam. He watches Kirk and Spock travel across this galaxy and the next. He goes on adventures and fights crime with the Justice League.

He builds himself a code of friendship from the stories he reads and the shows he watches on the old television in the den.

He knows, deep in his heart, that he could be a friend to someone, someday.

He knows this, just like he knows that it will never happen.

* * *

><p><em><strong>2 November 2009, 12.45pm<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

She fought her way into the apartment with threats and wheedling. But, now that she had gained entry into the apartment, she had no idea what to do with herself. Sheldon had been scribbling at his whiteboards for hours.

It was odd to be alone with him. Even after all this time, she wasn't quite at ease when it was just the two of them. She would have liked to talk to him about what was happening to him, but he was too focused to engage with her.

So, she sat on the couch and watched him work. She'd done it before – not a day passed without him getting some equation in his teeth and not being able to rest until he'd figure it out. But it had been different then. He'd always had a look of adulation on his face when he worked. He always looked like a person doing exactly what they were placed on earth to do.

But, now, there was something strange in his eyes. Every now and then he would glance at her, as if checking to see whether she was still there. There was something odd about the way his eyes looked at the whiteboard. It was a cool, resolved look. The look of something icy that was not icy at all, a refracted sort of frozen flame.[2] There was no joy in it. It sent shivers down her spine.

At least he didn't look as tired.

Not wanting to watch the frantic movement of his pen for a moment longer, she stood up and walked to the kitchen, deciding to at least make herself useful by getting started on Sheldon's lunch. As she worked in the kitchen, she found herself singing the lines of another of her mother's favourite Joni Mitchell songs.

_We are stardust._

_We are golden._

_And we got to get ourselves _

_Back to the garden._

"What is the song you are singing?"

She jumped and let out a small cry – dropping a knife on the floor. She hadn't been aware that Sheldon was standing in the kitchen behind her. "Sweetie, you scared me."

"I apologise," he said, looking down. But, he never could let something go when it was bothering him. "What is that song?"

"Oh, it's 'Woodstock' – one of my mom's favourites. The singer is Joni Mitchell." He

He frowned, bending down to pick up the butter knife she had dropped on the ground. When he bent down, she noticed the pale skin of his lower back where his t-shirt lifted. During those moments when his arms weren't crossed or stiff at his side, he could be almost graceful. She wondered idly whether she would be able to convince him to stand up straighter – not to stoop down to talk to the rest of them.

When he stood up, he immediately walked to the sink and started filling it with soapy water – all this to clean the knife before she could finish making their lunch.

"And this Joni Mitchell sings about humans being stardust?"

Penny shook her head as if to clear it. She had never envisaged trying to explain Joni Mitchell to Sheldon. "It's a metaphor, I suppose."

"She's absolutely correct," Sheldon said simply. "All the elements in the universe – carbon, nitrogen, oxygen and so on – were synthesised in the nuclear furnace that is the interior of a star. When a star reaches supernova, these ancient elements are incorporated into a new generation of stars, planets and all life forms that form on the planets."

Penny realised suddenly that her mouth was open. She must look like a stunned mullet. "So what you're saying is that Joni Mitchell is singing about physics?"

"Penny, Penny, Penny. Haven't you learned by now that to understand physics is to understand everything in the universe? Even Joni Mitchell."

He regarded her, a hint of a smile about his mouth. She couldn't help but grin at how foolish he looked with those big yellow gloves on his hands scrubbing furiously at a single knife. If she hadn't known that he would have a complete meltdown if she even tried, should would have liked to flick some of those bubbles at him.

But, too soon the shadows returned to his eyes and any hint of levity was lost to his face. He looked so downcast that Penny ached for him.

"Sheldon," she said, as he handed her the now clean knife and made as if to move back to his scribbling. "May I ask you a question?"

He blinked. "I believe you just did. But you may ask me another one."

She bit her tongue to stop herself from responding sarcastically. "Well, I guess I'm just wondering why you decided to go into physics?" Before he had a chance to give a lengthy lecture about the virtues of physics, she continued. "I mean, doesn't it make you sad to think that all of this is just tiny particles dancing around?"

He leaned dreamily on the counter, lost in thought. Penny blinked at the look on his face; she couldn't recall a time when someone had considered her words so closely.

Then, his eyes snapped back to hers, and it was like being under a microscope. "It disturbs you to think that those feelings you experience – joy and sorrow – are merely reactions between molecules and atoms? You think it bleak that your world can be reduced to particles or fields and their interactions? You think it diminishes the world around you?"

Before her eyes, the coolness that had hidden just behind his thawed slightly. "Uh, yeah...sure. I mean, that's what I was saying."

Sheldon thought for a moment. When he spoke, the Texas drawl had entered his voice the way it did when he was speaking from the heart. "Well, Penny, something doesn't stop being real just because we don't want to admit it. And I don't think it's bleak. The way I see it, those 100 billion galaxies that sparkle over our heads are the formulas I write on my whiteboard, just writ large across the sky."[3]

As he spoke, he stepped closer to her, as if wanting to pull her into his mind she that she too could see the universes forming and disappearing in his brain. For her part, she had to draw breath since these beautiful words began spilling from his mouth.

"There have been a lot of things in my life that I couldn't explain or didn't understand. What I'm looking for is a formula that can answer a question that is bigger than me, bigger than any of us. It's about creation – something that we're a part of. It's about galaxies moving in space and the movement of tiny particles. Knowing that every cell in my body is billions of years old makes me feel part of something great."

"It makes me feel small," she whispered, feeling frozen under the force of his intense gaze.

"But Penny," he said with a crooked smile, only inches from her. "You are part of it too."

Later, she would account for it as him reaching a fervour of physics-related excitement. Certainly, he had never gone out of his way to touch her before – if anything, he tried to avoid it unless absolutely necessary.

Whatever the reason, at that moment, he reached out with both hands and – hesitating only slightly – rested his long fingers on the bare skin of her upper arms.

"Close your eyes."

Not knowing what else to do, she closed her eyes.

"Right this moment, billions of neutrinos ejected into space by the sun are passing through your body and mine as part of a lonely voyage through the cosmos. You're a part of it, Penny. Can you feel it?"[3]

For a moment, Penny fancied that she could feel it happening. She could feel each atom of her body. She could feel his hands. She could feel everything.

But then his hands were gone and her arms were cool. And she was no more than Penny standing in a kitchen with her chest heaving.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Sheldon retreating back to the safety of his formulae. She drew a shuddering breath, struggling to get her bearings.

If she hadn't known better, she would have mistaken the fluttering in her chest as being caused by the feeling of Sheldon's hands on her skin.

She pushed the thought away.

* * *

><p><em><strong>20 October, 2009, 1.00am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

Leonard wasn't sure what woke him up that evening. Now that they had relocated Halo nights to Raj's apartment, he found himself slipping into the apartment and going to bed, hoping to avoid extended interactions with Sheldon as he worked and worked and worked.

That night, he found himself struck with wakefulness. Walking out of his bedroom, he found Sheldon standing by the window, scrawling data onto the glass.

"Sheldon," Leonard said, blinking against the light of the living room. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Ran out of space," Sheldon said. In moments of peak focus, he spoke slowly but without any civility.

"Sure," Leonard said simply. He walked over to the window and peered at the numbers and symbols that Sheldon had scrawled. "Are you just creating window art or are you working?"

Sheldon paused, frowning at Leonard. For a moment, his gaze was enough to make Leonard feel foolish in his big football socks and his robe. When Sheldon got that look on his face, it was as if Leonard and he were different species. Leonard would notice in those moments how sharp Sheldon's features were, how tall he was. It had never really occurred to Leonard to be jealous of Sheldon; he was too eccentric, too different from other people to be a real threat. But, Leonard knew that if there were to be a physical confrontation, Sheldon would probably win.

"How can I invent window art? Many windows in the early Christian churches of the fourth and fifth centuries are decorated with ornate decorations of alabaster. In 675 AD, Benedict Biscop imported workmen from France to glaze the windows of St Peter's monastery at Monkwearmouth. The production of decorated or coloured glass in Southwest Asia was in existence by the 8th century. The Alchemist Jabir ibn Hayyan gave 46 recipes for producing coloured glass. In _Kitab al-Durra al-Maknuna,_ he even describes how to cut this glass into gemstones." He took a breath. "I'm surprised you don't know that."

As always, Sheldon spoke as if he had just swallowed Wikipedia.

"I did know that," Leonard lied. "I was just making a joke."

"Oh," he said flatly, before letting out a breathy laugh. "Good one."

Silence fell again. Watching Sheldon write on the glass of their windows, Leonard couldn't help but wonder at the fact that his mother could find a grand, extensive list of Leonard's flaws – a veritable psychological gold mine – when she viewed Sheldon as one of the more evolved of the species. But, Beverley had never been like this: hair in disarray, eyes red and hunched before his own data.

For a moment, Leonard wondered how Beverley would respond if she saw Sheldon in this state. It was difficult to imagine; she was not one for displays of concern for others. But, as he had heard at great length from her after her last visit, Sheldon had a truly remarkable brain. Surely her concern for that would be enough to compel her to come and watch his unspooling.

Leonard glanced down at the papers that were stacked (surprisingly messily) next to Sheldon.

"You're working on the real data from the Arctic?" Leonard asked, surprised. "I thought it was useless?"

Without seeming to think about it, Sheldon snatched away the data. Leonard pretended not to notice.

"It _has_ to mean something."

Leonard didn't need to ask what Sheldon meant; he'd heard the jibes and whispers around the Department. They had been waiting for him to stumble. They had been waiting for him to make that first mistake since he was eleven years old and entered their orbit as the Wunderkind from Texas.

It _had_ to mean something, or everything Sheldon had been working on since he was a child had come to naught.

"I can help you," Leonard said gently as Sheldon reorganised the papers on the desk.

"Thank you," he said coolly. "But my career has had about all the 'help' it can take."

All thoughts of physical confrontation fled from Leonard's mind. None of it would hurt quite as much as those had. For the first time, he found himself hating Sheldon, just a little.

So, he left his flatmate scrawling numbers across the night sky as his guilt started solidifying into hate.

* * *

><p><em><strong>3 November, 2009, 3.30am<strong>_

Penny awoke with a start, the dream still running through her head – the barrier between sleeping and waking seeming feeble as she blinked her eyes.

It had been a strange dream. Perhaps the strangest she had ever had.

She had been inside herself: in the gland she had learned was called the thymus (_thanks_ _Moonpie_). She had seen that her white T-cells had turned bandit. They weren't obeying the rules. They were swarming into the bloodstream, overturning the quiet order of spleen and intestine. In the lymph nodes they were swelling with pride. It used to be their job to keep her body safe from enemies on the outside. They were Penny's immunity, her certainty against infection. Now they were enemies on the inside. The security forces had rebelled.

And for some reason, it was Sheldon who was standing guard over her. It was Sheldon who pulled the lock gates on the portal vein. He held up his lantern – the green one that he loved so much – he showed her that it was nothing to fear. He sang her soft kitty and ensured that her blood kept flowing. He was inside of her, he was outside of her, he was hurtling through her blood stream.[4]

He told her: _I will be true to you_. In that queer formality of his. And there, facing the onslaught from her own blood turned enemy and feeling feverish even in her slumbering state, she could committed adultery of the heart by taking his hand and letting him lead her out of her body. So that they were not contained in any moment or place.

Her eyes focused in the night, and slowly the world came into focus: she was on the couch in Leonard and Sheldon's apartment, she had fallen asleep while watching Sheldon work.

And there, in what had informally become known as Leonard's spot, Sheldon sat looking at her.

"Sheldon," she croaked, jumping a little.

"You're still here," he observed quietly.

"I'll be here for as long as it takes."

She could have dreamed it, but she thought she saw him nod at that. When she woke up in the morning, still resting on the leather couch, she had been covered by a blanket. She could tell by the hospital corners that it was Sheldon's handiwork.

Leonard kissed her on the head distractedly on his way to work. "I tried to move you when I got home, but you took a sing at me when I tried."

"How ladylike," she commented. He laughed but didn't deny it.

When he left, she folded up the blanket and threw it over the arm of the couch. Trying too hard to pretend it didn't mean anything.

Making it mean even more.

* * *

><p><em><strong>12 November, 2009, 12.45pm<strong>_

_**Physics Department, Caltech**_

"Surprise!"

Leonard couldn't help but grin at the sight of Penny standing at the door of his office with a coffee in hand, clutching a brown paper bag.

"You came by to surprise me," he exclaimed as she slipped passed him into the office.

"I know! I'm the best," she said proudly, hopping up onto his desk, wearing jeans so tight it made his chest ache. Without even making a conscious decision to do so, he moved closer to her until he was standing in the V caused by her legs on the desk. He reached out to rest his hand on her hip and pretended not to notice the way she stiffened slightly at his touch.

Searching about in his mind for something to say, his eyes fell on the brown paper bag. "You brought me lunch?"

"Oh," she said, biting her lip guiltily as her eyes flicked towards the clock. "Actually…this is for Sheldon. I wanted to make sure he was eating properly now he's back at work."

Leonard hoped that the smile that was making his cheeks ache didn't look as insincere as it felt. "It's for Sheldon. That's so _nice_."

"Yeah, well," she said nervously, her eyes flickering away from his – looking at anything except him. "It gives me an excuse to come by and visit you too!"

"Of course," he said, his cheeks still aching as he inched closer to her. "Because Sheldon doesn't like eating lunch until 1pm."

She frowned at him. "I came early to see you."

"I know," he said quickly, snaking his arm around her waist again. Why did it always feel this way: as if he were sixteen years old and trying to sneak his hand into his date's at a movie theatre. "It's just…you've been spending so much time with Sheldon recently that I feel like I haven't seen you at all."

She melted at his hang-dog expression. Reaching out to touch his shoulders, she pulled him in for a hug. "Aww, sweetie. I'm sorry. It's just…you know how Sheldon is. I just want to make sure that he doesn't forget to eat or anything while he makes his own black hole or whatever."

Leonard had already forgotten what he was asking her as the smell of her vanilla body lotion overpowered him and he found himself nuzzling her neck. He couldn't lie; the idea of having a quickie right here in his office at work was very appealing. But, already she was pulling away from him.

"Leonard," she said breathily. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

Already his mind was filled with rich fantasies about where this was going.

"Why did you go into physics?"

Well. That was unexpected.

"You mean…professionally?" he asked uncertainly, uncertain what she wanted from him.

"Yeah, I mean – why physics rather than some other type of science. I mean, smart guy like you could have chosen a lot of different things, right?"

"Well," he adjusted his glasses on his nose. "I mean...I was always pretty scientifically minded. I liked doing experiments and everything – and I did well in it at school. When I finished high school, my parents had me sit a professional personality test and it indicated that I was most suited to academia. That was cross-referenced with my grades and adjusted to my preferences. Physics just seemed like the coolest type of science, you know? With the lasers and space. It was always what interested me the most." He paused, struggling to remember how he had ended up where he had. "Also, I mean, my sister had already gone to med school so I didn't really want to compete with her. So yeah. Umm. That's pretty much how I ended up here."

_Right this moment, billions of neutrinos ejected into space by the sun are passing through your body and mine as part of a lonely voyage through the cosmos._

She hated that she was comparing their answers in her mind. She hated the way he looked at her as if beseeching her to tell him what he had to do. She hated and felt sorry for how she was treating him – how her eyes kept moving to the clock on the wall to make sure that she wasn't late bringing lunch to Sheldon. She didn't even know why she bothered, really. He always had her put it on the desk and then leave his office. He didn't like small talk.

But, the fact of the matter was that looking after Sheldon was the only thing that made sense in her life. To be truly needed by another person – even if he didn't want admit it out loud – it made the sting of rejections from auditions seem slightly less. That moment, the night she had come from her dead end job and found Sheldon the stoop of his apartment had awoken something within her: she had found something strange and protective over him. And she liked who she was because of it.

She may not understand what he was doing, but no matter how crazy he seemed to everyone else, she believed in Sheldon. But, she didn't believe that he could do it alone.

Even now, looking at Leonard's apologetic face, she felt a sting of guilt. Whether it was guilt directed at him because she wasn't who he thought she was or whether it was guilt at the fact that it was now 12.55pm and she didn't want to keep Sheldon waiting for his lunch – she didn't know.

So she kissed Leonard and allowed his hands to run over her body. It him so happy to be able to hold her this way. It was the least she could do.

"Sex in the office. Very classy."

Penny opened her eyes to see what must have been a miniaturised Willy Wonka staring at her from the doorway of Leonard's office. Howard Wolowitz: dressed head to toe in purple.

"Howard," she said flatly. "Nice jeans."

"Thank you, mi'lady," he oozed. "Attracting the eye like a peacock. And speaking of co - "

"And that," Penny said, jumping off the table and sauntering over to the door. "Is my cue to go. I'll see you guys later." Pushing passed Howard, she pointed down the hallway. "Sheldon's office is down that way, right?"

"Right," Leonard said brightly. It wasn't until she disappeared from view that he slumped down on the edge of the desk. "Thanks a lot for the interruption, Howard."

Howard stared down the hallways – probably at Penny's retreating ass. "It doesn't seem like I really interrupted anything. I mean, now that she dating you _and_ Sheldon time is scarce…"

"She's not _dating_ Sheldon. She's looking after him. She's helping him out. Like a buddy."

"Yeah," Howard said doubtfully. "And I think we both know what kind of _buddy_."

Leonard glowered at him. "Come on. Let's go get some lunch."

"Whatever you say, my cuckolded friend."

Leonard was still protesting as they sat down for lunch in the cafeteria.

* * *

><p><em><strong>15 November, 2009, 10.00pm<strong>_

_**Physics Department, Caltech**_

Raj had left him to it. There didn't seem much point lecturing him about staying in the office for two days, working. Dr Cooper's mind was made up. There would be no stopping him now.

Standing before the sea of formulae, Sheldon tried to remind himself that science was about giving meaning to confusion. It was what kept him coming back to his work.

But now, as the lights in the hallway went out until only his was blazing in the night, he felt the way he had when his mother took him to be tested by a team of psychologists. Before the results had come back – showing all of them how thin the line between genius and crazy truly was – he had wondered whether those things that made such perfect sense to him made him crazy. He had tried to convince himself that crazy people never wonder if they might be crazy. But, he had no empirical data to back that up.

Like he had then, Sheldon wondered whether he was losing himself. Maybe he had finally reached the outer limit of his brain. Perhaps this was as far as he could go.

But, if he could go no further, then what on earth did he have left?

A knock on the door of his office ended that thought before it could truly take form. He knew who it was without having to ask.

_Knock-knock-knock_ Sheldon. _Knock-knock-knock_ Sheldon. _Knock-knock Knock _Sheldon.

He said nothing. But, he should have known that Penny would not take no for an answer. She opened the door and slipped in. She was wearing those sweats and clingy t-shirts that she wore when she was relaxing at home. He frowned at her, wondering what it was that had drawn her to Caltech when she had been relaxing.

"What are you doing here?"

Penny snorted. "I'm here to take you home," she said matter-of-factly.

"No you're not," he retorted. "I do not want to go home."

"I don't _care_, Sheldon. I'm taking you."

Sheldon slowly placed his whiteboard marker on his desk and turned to face him. Despite his exhaustion, he looked tall and formidable against a wall of books.

"I have eaten," he said slowly. "I take naps in the sick bay when my body needs to rest. I am 'taking care of myself.' You've no reason to call my mother."

She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, car keys still in hand. "It's not about calling your mother." She drew a shuddering breath. "How long are you going to do this, Sheldon? How long are you going to do nothing but work?"

"As long as it takes," he said stubbornly, turning his back to her to regard his data again.

"As long as it takes to _what_?" Penny asked.

Sheldon turned on his heels to face her. "To make _sense _of this…this meaningless collection of nonsense."

Only then did she see that he couldn't know that she had wet her Ugg boots in the rain that fell like strings of night outside. He couldn't know how much it hurt her to watch Howard, Raj and Leonard playing vintage video games – leaving his spot empty on the couch. He couldn't know any of these things, because these words, these numbers and symbols – they written on the inside of his head. They were all he could see. And they were mocking him.

"I started university at eleven years old," he said, bracing himself on the desk and breathing slowly to calm himself. "I've worked in physics for nearly twenty years. And I've never found a problem I couldn't solve. Until - " he gestured widely around himself "- _this_. I don't know the answer to any of this, Penny. Do you know what that means?"

"No," she said softly.

"I made one mistake," he said, shaking his head. "One mistake in almost eighteen years. And the only thing that would fix it is right here in front of me and I _don't_ _know_ _the_ _answer_."

His head hung low, and she found herself looking down at his Flash t-shirt, wondering what she could say to make him feel better. His eyelashes were so dark against his cheeks. She would have given anything for him to let her take him to the ocean - out into the sun.

"You'll figure it out," she said, unconvincingly.

"And what, Penny, would you know about it?" He sighed, pressing the palm of his hand to his eyes. "This isn't twenty questions at a local ho-down trivia night. This is the answer that would change everything. This is…"

"A lonely voyage across the cosmos?" she asked sadly, not even offended at his patronising tone.

"A bit dramatically put, but in essence, yes."

She stepped towards him, her hands out stretched, as if reaching out for him, or showing him that she held no weapons. "How can I help you?"

He laughed bitterly, before throwing his arms wide. "You can't help me. None of you can help me. You couldn't even begin to understand what this means." He tapped the white board in front of him. "It doesn't mean anything."

With a strange methodical movement, he began wiping the board with an eraser. As she watched, tears prickling behind her eyes, he wiped faster and faster. Then, without cracking an expression, he picked the whiteboard up and threw it onto the ground. Using no more than his own hands and feet, he started tearing at the structure, animalistic noises erupting from his throat.

"Sheldon," she said shakily, almost shouting over the sound of him ripping the cheap little white board to pieces. Then, he turned to the bookcase and began to tear pages out of the books.

"_Sheldon,_" she repeated as he ripping apart his office with a deranged look on his face. She didn't know what to do, how to stop the strange violence of his eruption. It was only when she saw him pick up one of his glass trophies that she ran forward.

"SHELDON," she shouted, grabbing at his arms, grabbing his hands to stop him from throwing the glass statue at the nearest wall.

She clutched his biceps as his chest heaved. Reaching down for his hand, she prised the trophy from it and put reached behind him to place it on the bookshelf. She had inadvertently pressed herself against him in the process.

"_Penny_," he said softly, with his eyes closed.

No one had ever said her name that way: as if it meant more than just being her name. As if it could summon a spirit. Not quite understanding what she was doing, she reached up and ghosted her hand over his face – not quite touching, but allowing the heat of her hand to calm him.

"Penny," he said again, his eyes still closed. "I apologise for my actions tonight. I hope that you can - "

"Shh," she said again, letting her hands come to rest on his chest.

With agonising slowness, he reached for her hands – undoubtedly to lift them from his chest – but at that moment, his eyes opened and he looked down at her. His hands managed to cover hers. She had never noticed how large his hands were, how elegant his fingers were.

If he looked at his work this way, well she felt bad for particles not having eyes to see it.

Shaking his head, as if in disbelief, he tried to form words. "Penny, I - "

But just what he was, she would never know, because that instant his face changed. Standing in the disaster zone of his office, with his hands pressing hers against his chest, his eyes widened and his mouth started moving silently. He let go of her hands and his arms dropped to his sides.

She reluctantly pulled away from him. "Are you okay, Sweetie?"

But he didn't respond, just stood there mouthing words silently. After a few minutes passed, his eyes snapped back to hers.

"I just figured it out."

"What?" she asked, thrown by the sudden change in topic and by his close proximity.

He hurried to his desk and grabbed a scrap of paper. Scribbling furiously for a few minutes, he was shaking his head.

"Sheldon?"

He looked at her, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. He didn't smile or jump for joy. He just stood there, clutching a crumpled piece of paper. Then, very calmly, he nodded once.

"I can go home now," he said simply. "I just found the answer."

* * *

><p>[1] Based on <em>The English Patient<em>, Michael Ondaatje.

[2] _Draco Veritas_, Cassandra Claire

[3] _The Elegant Universe_, Brian Greene

[4] _Written on the Body, _Jeanette Winterton

[5] Based on _Atonement_, Ian McEwan

**A/N: Sorry for the epic length of the chapter – it was going to be even longer, but I saved it for the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for your kind reviews. **


	4. Chapter 4: The Story Starts

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Four: The Story Starts**

"_This is where the story starts, in this threadbare room. The walls are exploding. The windows have turned into telescopes. Moon and stars are magnified in this room. The sun hangs over the mantelpiece. I stretch out my hand and reach the corners of the world. The world is bundled up in this room. Beyond the door, where the river is, where the roads are, we shall be. We can take the world with us when we go and sling the sun under your arm. Hurry now, it's getting late. I don't know if this is a happy ending but here we are let loose in open fields."_

_- Written on the Body, _Jeanette Winterton

* * *

><p><em><strong>15 November, 2009, 11.00pm<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

Leonard was nowhere to be seen, and for that she was glad.

For the second time, she felt the weight of Sheldon by her side as she led him to the place where he could finally rest. For a brief insane moment she fancied that he might slip away entirely. The thought was so distressing that she pulled him a little closer, aware that tomorrow he would have little bruises where she had pressed on his ribs. But, for now, he didn't say anything. She would have liked him to speak; the sound of his voice would have been a deliverance from this fearsome, terrifying believe that at any moment he might slip out of reach and be forever lost to her. Instead, he slumped silently at her side.[5]

When they reached the bed, she paused, wondering whether he would once more ask for her help in stripping off his pyjamas. A strange thought came upon her: she would have liked to help him. She wanted to feel any sort of intimacy with him. She wanted to claw her way into his chest so that she could stop whatever _this_ was.

But, when he reached the bed, he fell into it – overwhelmed by a bone-weary exhaustion that had passed all through him.

She stood uselessly by the bed, not sure whether she should pull his shoes off, before realising that if she didn't she had no business being in the room at all. She glanced at the window, feeling superstitious.

It was a full, beautiful moon. And just like that, the room was transformed from a pedantically neat altar to Leonard Nimoy to an alien moonscape. Every beautiful word he had ever said about the universe echoed in her ear. _Every cell in our body is made of stardust. _ A strange tenderness towards this strange man overtook her.

"Sheldon," she said in a low voice that she scarcely recognised. "You can't sleep like that."

"Like what?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"Wearing your jeans," she said.

With a slight tremor in her hand, she reached out and undid his shoelaces and pulled his shoes from his feet. Then, in what must have been a moment of utter madness, she reached for his belt buckle, undoing it clumsily.

She bit her lip, not certain what she was doing. But, in that moment, she knew that his eyes had opened and that he was examining her face – any thought of sleep forgotten for the moment.

She waited for him to tell her to stop. She waited for him to say anything, but he was silent as he watched her with those mad, distant eyes of his. For her part, as slowly and carefully as she could, she undid the top button.

In the moonlight, she could see him swallow. Never before had she taken off a man's clothes so intimately. Never before had they just lain there, utterly still and silent except for steady, deep breathing. She unzipped his zipper and realized suddenly that her mouth was dry.

For one, guilty moment, she imagined what would happen if she just reached down and -

Without warning, he summoned the last of his strength to sit up, assisting her with pulling off his jeans, leaving him only in boxers. But when she reached for his t-shirt, he did possibly the last thing she had expected: he took her hand and pressed it to his chest.

"Stay," he rasped.

"What?"

"Stay."

For the first time since she had suddenly decided to take off his clothes, she looked at his face. His eyes were exhausted and devastated in the face of his success. The look on his face took her breath away. He looked at her as if she was his salvation. He looked at her like a man.

Something in her face must have told him that she would have done anything to help him. Because, without her seeming to notice how it happened, she found herself slipping off her shoes and lying down on the bed next to him. He was too close to her side of the bed; he was unpractised when it came to sharing.

Still clutching her, he shifted and adjusted them both until her back was against his chest.

Still clutching her, he breathed in the scent of her hair, not seeming to worry about germs or the fact that she was still in his room.

Still clutching her, he fell into a deep sleep.

And in the dark, Penny's heart raced with the strangeness of it. With the perfect strangeness of it.

Her heart raced as he dreamed.

* * *

><p><em><strong>4 May 2002, 12.01am<strong>_

_**Bellevue, Nebraska**_

She sits outside a gas station with her legs outstretched and glistening in flickering electric light.

It was passed midnight and all the houses around her were dark. A single faint light from the 24 hour market gleams around her: creating a halo of light and the illusion of safety. There is no sound except for the rev of trucks that drive on and on into the night and the hooting of an old owl. The melody is obscured by the sound of machines.

She is crying without really seeming to mind. They had started when she left the dance and they had come so fast that her bare arms no longer served to dry them.

It is only when the car pulls up that she wants to hide her face, thrusting it into the bend of her arm, not caring to dry her face, her eyes, her arms – just wanting to hide from people's gazes.[1]

She couldn't have said why she was crying. Not really. She hadn't exactly enjoyed the sight of her father pulling a shotgun on her brother – who had come to the farm to steal jewellery, his sisters' money, anything he could find. The fight that had followed hadn't been particularly pleasant either (her mother screaming: 'You _trapped _me here' as her father stared on and on down a dark road that he couldn't see for the night).

But it was not these things that caused this strange oppression – this feeling that filled her even as she shinnied out of her window and snuck out to meet Kurt – it was a vague, unfocused anguish. It was an anguish that sharpened to a fine point when she took swigs from the bottle she had stolen from her brother's closet. He hadn't lived there in weeks, but his room was unchanged.

All these things were the substance of her life; they shouldn't have made her cry.

She had simply reached a point where just being in her own skin, sitting on the curb, feeling the way the sky felt against her skin was unbearable. The thought of being _here_ is unbearable.

The sounds of the people of this slow-dying sound wishing and praying and longing and dreading and fucking and hating and wasting away is almost too much to bear.

So, she cries for her wild-eye, smacked out brother. She cries for the dried up dreams of her mother. She cries for her narrow-minded father and her bossy sister who has become a mother too young.

But more than that, she cries out for some way to reassure herself that she could be special.

When Kurt sees her sitting there in the dark, all soft skin and legs from here to Tuesday, he reaches down to pull her to her feet, a hint of rebuke in the rough way he handles her.

She smiles up at him, willing him to ask her what's wrong. He smiles down at her, unwilling to ask her what's wrong.

"Let's take a drive, babe."

She follows him but she can't stop crying.

He parks on a hill overlooking the town, and sits casting glances her way as she stares straight ahead.

Then, without warning – as if in response to a starter's gun – she lunges at him in the driver's seat. Before he knows what is happening, she is straddling him, pulling his shirt from his jeans, her hands moving too quickly to keep track of.

"Tell me," she whispers with jagged breaths.

"Anything," he groans as she frees him from his jeans.

"Tell me that you love me."

He kisses her to shut her up but she pulls back, her breasts teasingly close to him, biting her lip.

"Tell me that you love me," she whispers again.

"You know I do, babe," he says. "Don't kill the mood."

"Say it."

He feels cornered and it makes him angry. "I fucking love you, okay?"

She doesn't say it back but allows his hands to undress her. There in the front seat of his beaten-up car, she lets him do what he wants with her.

It's her first time. And she can't stop crying.

* * *

><p><em><strong>16 November, 2009, 8.00am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

Penny woke up without needing to get her bearings. She knew exactly where she as: and perhaps that was the most shocking part of it.

_I'm in Sheldon's bed_.

Glancing down at her stomach, she saw that her hand is entwined with long, elegant fingers – the hands of an artist rather than a physicist.

_I'm holding hands with Sheldon_.

She peered at the clock and noted that it was already 8am. That was probably the first shock of the morning; Sheldon rarely allowed himself to deviate from his schedule, and yet here he was sleeping.

A part of her would have liked to stay exactly where she was. There was something intoxicating about knowing that she was the first woman to wake up in Dr Sheldon Cooper's arms. She didn't want to move, didn't want the moment to shatter when he realized what he was doing and bolted for the bathroom to scrub himself head to toe with hand sanitizer.

But, more than that she was glad that he was resting.

Unwillingly, she untwined their hands and, with agonising slowness, she rotated until she was facing him.

He had slept on his side rather than flat on his back. He had created a cocoon of warmth for her to sleep in. And yet, when he had pulled her into bed, he had been clinging so desperately to her, as if he needed the warmth of her body to replenish him. His shirt was riding up slightly at the front and Penny grinned at the sight.

He just looked so _normal_ in the morning light with one hand tucked under his head. He looked _normal_ and tall, lying straight out, dwarfing her with his long limbs and large hands and feet. Biting her lip at her own audaciousness, Penny burrowed her feet further between his to warm them. He frowned seriously in his sleep before throwing his arm around her again and relaxing into this new position. She had to fight back a giggle.

_Hel-lo Moonpie._

If she was totally honest with herself, she had to admit that he looked kind of cute.

She didn't know what to do with her hands now that he had once more wrapped his arm around her. If he were any other guy, she would have reached out and placed her hand on that space where his belly was on display. If he were any other guy, she would -

_Ohmygod. I'm in _Sheldon's_ bed._

It was only then that the true implications of the situation hit home with her. She was lying in bed with her boyfriend's roommate. She was having naughty, impure thoughts about him while his arms were wrapped around her so protectively that she knew her knees would have been weak if she could have stood up.

_I have to get out of here_.

But for a moment, she allowed herself to watch him. It occurred to her suddenly that this was the first real physical contact that she and Sheldon had shared. It should have been weird, it should have made her skin crawl or made her feel like she was nursing an overgrown child.

But it didn't do any of those things. It felt warm and safe in this space. But more than that, the feeling of his fingers moving over her skin lightly as he slept made a strange feeling of anticipation form in the base of her stomach. Anticipation that was destined to be thwarted. Anticipation that could go nowhere, that would not be released, that grew and grew.

He said he'd found an answer last night. She wanted desperately to know what that answer was, even if she couldn't understand it. She wanted it to be the answer he needed to find peace.

She wanted things that she couldn't express – that she'd never imagined she could deserve. So, with heart aching, she pulled herself out of the bed. She pulled up his doona to protect him from the cold, but the moment she lifted her body from the mattress, he reached out – as if trying to capture a puff of smoke. He didn't wake up, but be seemed to deflate, falling back down, half on his back.

She felt an odd sensation of guilt leaving him there alone – a guilt that had been curiously absent when she'd thought of Leonard while spooning with Sheldon.

On an impulse, she kissed two of her fingers and pressed them to Sheldon's forehead.

She picked up her shoes and her jumper before slipping out of his bedroom and allowing the door to close on that strange, surreal island they had created for themselves out of dreams.

She closed the door – and came face-to-face with Leonard Hofstader.

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 1991, 7.30am<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

He is sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a book – taking no more than two seconds to glance at a page before turning it.

It is a library book from the university. He wears surgical gloves.

His sister is watching him on the other side of the table, wondering at the gulf between them – wondering how two people could share a womb and yet come out so profoundly different. As young as they are, she has given up on teasing him. He is the only thing in this house that doesn't depress her. She cares for him fiercely in a way that it would never occur to him to care for her.

All is quiet. Their mother has already left for work. Their brother is working on a building site. There is a note on the fridge.

_Be good. Don't forget to thank Jesus for your breakfast. _

The kitchen slumps in the morning sun. Her brother isn't much for conversation in the morning – no idle chitchat. Sometimes she resents that – resents him for not being more like her friend's brothers, for being different. But, at other times, her heart aches with tenderness for him: when he sits cross-legged in front of _Star Trek_, looking at the television with such intensity and longing that she knows he would leap through the screen if he could; when he cleans her room for her and lets her tell their mother that she did it; when he smiles that crooked smile of his and opens her eyes to something that she would never have considered if not for him.

This morning, she is filled with warmth for him, and for a moment, she considers telling him just that.

Before she finds the words, the door bursts open and their father staggers in, smelling of booze and cigarettes. He never came home last night. She heard her mother crying through the wall. So, she listened to her Discman.

"Hello there darlin'," he slurs, giving her a hard smile. "Why don't you go make your daddy some breakfast."

She hates his voice, his words, the fake sweetness of his manner when he's drunk. But most of all, she hates the way he looks at Sheldon, his face full of jealousy and spite. But, she has learned to tiptoe around him. But, her brother hadn't been blessed with a sense of self-preservation.

If only it were possible to speak to him with her mind. She could warn him to leave this damn table – to leave all of them behind. The university would have been happy to put him up. It is their mother who insists that he stay here.

She steals a glance at her father. She can see her father is spoiling for a fight. Sheldon sits at the table as Missy hurries to prepare some eggs. He is still reading with those damn gloves on. Her father is smiling coolly at the sight. This is what her father likes most: dominating, winning and making other people feel small. But, Sheldon is too bright for words to have any effect.

In one smooth movement, George Cooper reaches over the table and snatches the book from Sheldon's hand.

"What's this garbage you're reading, boy?"

For a moment, Sheldon is too stunned to speak, his eyes still glued to the book as if trying to calculate how it went from his hands to his father's.

"You took my book," he says incredulously.

George snorts. "Says the genius."

Sheldon glances at his sister, as if seeking out an explanation. But, now is not the time to explain the nuances of sarcasm.

"Give me back my book," Sheldon says, standing up.

George's eyes are chips of ice in the early morning sun. This is what he wanted all along – this is why he came home. Missy feels a thrill of foreboding, watching the eggs bubble in the fry-pay.

"Or you'll what?"

Sheldon looks around, searching for something – anything – to say to his father to force him to hand over the book. His eyes beseech Missy to intervene. But, she avoids his gaze: for self-preservation. So, Sheldon looks down at his hands, as if trying to remember how it had felt to hold the book in his hands.

Sheldon looks into his father's eyes. "I would like the book back, please."

With a malicious glint in his eyes, George Cooper fingers the pages of the book. "You know when I was your age, you couldna paid me to sit inside reading." His fingers clutch a page of the book, watching the stricken look on his brilliant son's face. "It ain't healthy if you ask me. And as your daddy it's my job to make it right."

With tantalizing slowness, George rips the page right out of the book.

_No._

Sheldon is too panicked to even articulate the word. Without thinking, he lunges towards George – as if taking the book back will undo the damage that his father has done, as if taking it back will be enough to restore the status quo.

Before Missy can blink, George sweeps to his feet and pins Sheldon against the wall, his hands around his son's neck like a vice.

Sheldon's eyes are wide as George breathes heavily through his nose, his face red and flushed, reeking of whiskey. Idly, Missy hears someone shouting "_Stop, stop, stop_." Only a few minutes later does she realize that it is her screaming as the eggs begin smoking in the pan, forgotten.

George glances at Missy – whose face is twisted in panic. He loosens his grip on Sheldon's neck, who gasps at the rush of air that now fills his lungs. For a moment, George looks uncertain, stepping away from his son, away from the violence of the last few minutes, away form the finger marks that are already forming delicate bruises at the base of Sheldon's neck. The room is quiet as Sheldon gradually gasps in enough air to speak.

"Give me my book back," Sheldon rasps.

With a cool, almost calculating look on his face, George picks up the book from the table, before turning around in one fluid movement at hitting Sheldon across the face with it.

"Here's your goddamn book," he spits before stamping out of the kitchen, headed upstairs to sleep it off.

Sheldon is doubled up against the wall, his lip bleeding where the book cover hit him. Then, as if it is the most important thing in the world, Sheldon frantically scoops up the book and places it gently on the kitchen table.

As Missy stands frozen next to the stove, Sheldon pulls out a bowl and begins measuring out his cup and a half of oatmeal into it.

He glances at Missy. "It's oatmeal day," he says, his lip still bleeding.

She nods wordlessly. Overwhelmed by the sheer normalcy of it, she sits down across from him at the table, playing her part. She watches him eat, watches him wince as the oatmeal touches his wound, watches him adhere to the strict routine of his day despite the violence that had unexpectedly burst up around him.

She wonders for a moment how people like him, who could never find the words for his emotions, manage. His pain and humiliations he would never utter aloud. With a growing dread, she realizes that he would carry them in his body always, like evil spirits squatting in his soul.[3]

She sits and she watches.

But, she doesn't tell a single person what she has seen – any of the times.

* * *

><p><em><strong>16 November, 2009, 8.10am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

"So…you wanna catch me up?"

Penny sat on the couch with her arms crossed in her lap, as if she were a child being scolded by an angry parent.

She wondered when it had become this way. When had they begun to make each other feel small?

When she looked back over the time since she had met him, one of them had always had to stoop. First it was Leonard, trying desperately to make himself just small enough to fit into her world – ironing himself over so that he didn't step out of line. Then, there would be times when he reached so greedily for her that she wondered whether he saw anything in her at all apart from her beauty.

But, there was no escaping it: this time it had been her fault.

Her fault that she sat there on the couch, picking at her nail-polish and trying to concentrate of Leonard when all she could think about was Sheldon pressing her hand to his heart – she had felt it beating under her touch – and imploring her: _Stay_.

But, faced with Leonard pacing angrily above her, she couldn't help but feel a swell of defiance. After all, it was he who had pushed Sheldon to this point. He had left her to pick up the pieces of his best friend. She didn't have a choice; either Sheldon shattered before her eyes or she helped him. There was no other option because she couldn't stand to see him break.

Penny lifted her chin. "Not really, actually."

He stopped dead in his tracks. "You walked out of my flatmate's bedroom this morning!"

"So?" Penny held his livid eyes. "What are you saying, Leonard? Why don't you just come out and say it."

He frowned deeply, before shaking his head as if to clear it. "How am I the bad guy? You're the one who - "

"Who _what_?" Penny spat, standing up. "What? Do you think I'm _sleeping_ with Sheldon?"

Leonard's gaze wavered slightly. While at times recently he had looked at Sheldon and seen a stranger, no one on earth knew Sheldon's eccentricities more precisely than Leonard Hofstadter. No one else knew as well as Leonard how derisively he spoke of 'coitus'. No one knew the way Sheldon felt about germs quite like Leonard.

No one knew – expect for maybe Sheldon's family – how he baulked at the thought of being touched.

(Even in his current state, Leonard felt a swell of regret when he recalled the way Sheldon would flinch if you moved unexpectedly in close proximity to him.)

But, the point still stood that there were some things that friends didn't do. Some things that _girl_friends didn't do.

"Well you tell me," Leonard exclaimed, spreading his hands wide. "What were you doing in there?"

Penny ran a hand through her hair, wishing that she'd been able to have her coffee and a shower before this ugly confrontation.

"We were sleeping," she said, biting her lip – knowing how flimsy it sounded. "He had some kind of breakdown thing in his office last night. He was exhausted. He - " she paused, not wanting to leave Sheldon open to Leonard's accusations if she simply said that he asked her, " – didn't want to be alone, I think. So I stayed with him."

"You stayed with him," Leonard repeated slowly, adjusting his hoodie on his shoulders, not able to stay still. "In his bed."

Penny would have liked to say: _You know that nothing happened. _ But, it would have seemed like a lie for some reason. Sure, nothing that Leonard would have been thinking of had happened. But, _something _had happened.

He had torn his office apart, he had come apart at the seams. And then it had been over. He had been as silent and still as the Johnson Lake in the early morning when her father had taken her fishing. She had scooped him up and taken him home. She had undressed him with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. He had clutched her hand and spoken to her in a ragged breath that she had scarcely recognised. He had held her throughout the night – held her in a way that he had never held anyone before.

So, she said the only thing that she could say – perhaps the only reason that nothing that Leonard was thinking had happened.

"It's Sheldon," she said, shrugging as if that explained everything.

"Exactly," Leonard said tiredly, exhaling through his teeth. "I just don't get why you're so…"

"What?"

He drew shapes in the air as if trying to spell out the words he was reaching for. "So…concerned about Sheldon."

It was as if he were blind to everything that had been happening in Sheldon's world in the last few months. Penny felt a barely concealed rage building inside of her.

"I don't understand why you're _not_ concerned about him," she spat.

"I have been concerned about Sheldon for _years_," he retorted, anger building in his voice.

"This is different. You guys crushed him. You took someone who trusted you and you just _crushed_ him." She drew in a deep voice. "Now I feel like I don't know who the hell you are, Leonard."

There. She had said it: the words that had been boiling inside of her for weeks. And confronted with the image of himself as the _nice_ guy shattering, Leonard found himself scrambling about for any justification to hold onto.

"You don't know what it was like," Leonard said, his arms crossed hard across his chest. "It was weeks of his neurotic, crazy twenty-four hour schedules…"

"What did you expect?"

"I expected…I don't know what I expected. But, I know that I expect a bit more support from my girlfriend."

Penny felt a blind panic. Their fight was teasing the edges of the Real Issue and now that she was confronted with it, she was desperate to delay the inevitable. "Sheldon needs me - "

"You're _not_ his girlfriend."

"I'm not trying to be his - "

"Good, Leonard spat. "Because you never will be his girlfriend. You won't, because it's Sheldon - and it's not what he does."

_He's right, _Penny thought. _He is absolutely right._

Penny was suddenly, inexplicably exhausted. She sat down on the couch, aware suddenly that she was in Sheldon's spot. With a slight tremor in her hand, she placed her palms flat against the cushion. It was as if his essence itself were infused in this place: memories of Sheldon washed over her. Not just the Sheldon she knew now – the deep, damaged genius that she one day hoped to make strong and powerful the way he was destined to be – but also the uptight wackadoodle she had known for years now.

It dawned on her so suddenly and completely that it took her breath away. Somewhere along this strange journey, she had stumbled onto a totally new land. And since she had met Sheldon, their separate worlds had met somewhere in the middle and it had jarred and shaken both of them. But the lure of it was too immense to resist. The way people like Sheldon longed to catapult themselves into space, she had catapulted herself into his world.

There was a violence in it: the determined way she had inserted herself into his life – constantly pushing his boundaries, making herself indispensible. She had pulled the pin and hurled herself passed those boundaries into that beautiful, strange mind of his. Because she couldn't stand not being a part of it.[3] And because she never felt more like herself then when he was forced to accommodate her.

She had been reckless before, never counting the cost, oblivious to the cost. But, how much was she willing to gamble on a foregone conclusion? She would never have anything more than friendship with Sheldon. It was inconceivable to imagine him allowing himself to be in a real relationship. But, that wasn't really what it was about.

But now, staring in the angry face of her boyfriend, Penny realised two things with absolute certainty.

The first was that if she stayed in this relationship with him, she would be complicit in turning him into a stranger. She had imagined that they might find themselves by being together. But instead, they were pulling further and further away from themselves and each other. They were becoming strangers.

Her second realization was more a feeling than a conscious thought. No matter what these crazy, jumbled feelings were, all she knew for sure was that for Sheldon, she could be strong. He wanted her to strong – he challenged her, patronized her and drove her crazy, but in the end, he looked her in the eye and demanded that she stand up and meet him where he was. But, more than that, when his brilliant mind needed to give way to the oblivion of rest, it was Penny that he took with her.

It was not a choice between two men – Leonard was probably right about her chances of sparking romantic interest in Sheldon – but, rather, a choice between two paths, two futures.

She could continue taking herself lightly, pretending that her feeling of unfocused dissatisfaction was just how it was always going to be. She could allow herself to settle comfortably on the certainty that Leonard would always be just a little bit grateful to have landed her. She could turn a blind eye to the way that her mere presence took away all those things that made Leonard who he was – his _Star Trek_ figures, his cello, his games and his friends.

Or she could be true to her honest belief that every person has an obligation to be born again and again throughout their lives.[4]

She could turn her eyes skyward and ask herself who she was in the universe and who she was to herself.

And so what if the reason that she was brave enough to do this was because Sheldon Cooper needed her to be strong for him? He needed her to be Penny Marshall, the way she needed him to keep being his unique, crazy self, because he was the only person she knew who always was exactly who he was. And because she couldn't stand the thought of him disappearing inside himself.

It was time.

She took in a shuddering breath. "Leonard," she said, her voice cracking, "I can't do this anymore.

It was time to embark on her own, lonely voyage through the cosmos. But maybe, just maybe – she might find someone who would hold her hand and touch her heart as she made the voyage.[5]

* * *

><p>[1] Based on Kate Chopin's <em>The Awakening<em>.

[2] Based on _Gut Symmetries_ by Jeanette Winterson

[3] _The Enigma of Arrival,_ by NS Naipaul

[4] Based on a quote from Gabrial Garcia Marquez

[5] As above.

**A/N: ****I chose the title of this chapter because it was to serve as a bridge. The last few chapters have been largely introductory. I know that this chapter was largely contemplative, but I think it was necessary before we pick up the threads of the story. I do hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for the reviews - they definitely make me type faster!**


	5. Chapter 5: My Ordinary Days

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Five: My Ordinary Days**

_Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head. _

_So I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name,_

_Like tears, soft, salt, on my lips, the sound of its bright syllables_

_Like a charm, like a spell._

_Falling in love_

_Is glamorous hell: the crouched, parched heart_

_Like a tiger, ready to kill; a flame's fierce licks under the skin_

_Into my life, larger than life, beautiful, you strolled in. _

_I hid in my ordinary days, in the long grass of routine,_

_In my camouflage rooms. You sprawled in my gaze, _

_Staring back from anyone's face, from the shape of a cloud,_

_From the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me._

_As I open the door. The curtains stir. There you are_

_On the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream._

"You" by Carol Ann Duffy

* * *

><p><em><strong>31 January 1995, 2.00pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

He is in the hallway outside the living room, listening to the sound of the television. His father is watching his stories on the television.

In one hand he holds a thick letter, embossed with beautiful towering spires. In the other, he holds a Germany language guide. He read the entire thing in under an hour. He is confident in his ability to hold a conversation with any German he might come across.

And come across them he would, depending on George Cooper's mood.

He doesn't square his shoulders to increase his confidence. At fifteen years old, with a Stevenson Award under his belt, he is no more than a year away from being awarded a PhD. But, he is also the tall, stiff boy who flinches if someone moves too fast in his proximity.

In these walls, the pride that has finally started to blossom in his chest is nowhere to be found. In these walls, he is the one his father toys with when he gets home – stinking drunk – after an afternoon playing on poker machines.

It bothers him both less and more than it would others. More because of his strange and delicate sensitivity. At once terribly frank and astoundingly fragile. But, it is easier for him too. Because he finds everyone around him so confusing. His father's actions are just one aspect of the strangeness he sees in the people in the world. He mentally files the perplexing hatred his father feels towards him with all the other perplexing behaviour he sees around him every day. He thinks nothing of it. He doesn't even see the tragedy in that.

But, today is not the day to wonder about that. Today he has a task. Today he needs his father to agree to let him go to Germany.

He sidles into the room, making himself small – a defence mechanism that never seemed to work. There is no way to hide the fact that he is already as tall as his father. There is no way to hide the intelligence in his eyes. Even his father's anger can't make it fade. Even the feeling of being struck across the face can't make Sheldon's uniqueness any less pronounced.

Already, his father is glancing over his shoulder, his fingers tightening on his can of Budweiser, making a dent in it. The sound of warping metal makes Sheldon freeze.

"What do you want, boy?"

Wordlessly, Sheldon hands him the letter. His father reads it slowly as Sheldon attempts to resist the desire ask whether there are words in it that George doesn't understand.

George regards him sharply, his face red from the beer. "They wanna send you to Germany?"

"Yes," Sheldon says in the small, pliant voice that does nothing to ingratiate him to his father.

"You want money?"

"No. The University will pay for it."

"The University will pay for it," George intones, narrowing his eyes. "Well ain't you fancy?"

He stands stock-still, uncertain what he is doing to antagonise his father. Not aware, even now, that he never has to do anything in particular.

"So now you're wanting my permission to go off to Germany?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

His father does not stay seated for long, never being one to surrender power. He stands, looking his son in the eye. "So you're telling me that you want me to give you permission to be a freeloader?"

"It's not freeloading," Sheldon says before he can stop himself. "I would be working as a visiting professor."

"If you're not planning on paying for it, then it's freeloading. And Coopers ain't freeloaders."

"But, I earned it."

He isn't imagining the look of victory on his father's face. He has made a mistake. He has given his father a reason to deny him. He had been foolish to imagine that he could walk in here with a letter full of warm praise for his work and with his head swirling with his new mastery of Italian and imagine that his father would allow him to leave this house. He would be here forever, the sheer force of his father's malevolence keeping him in place.

George Cooper dangles the letter in front of his face.

"Please," Sheldon says, without knowing what he is asking for.

With a sadistic smile on his face, George rips the letter in half and in half again. Sheldon feels a strange pain in his heart at the sight. He watches the scraps of paper fall to the ground, struck suddenly that with a single action, something special and precious could be transformed into useless confetti.

"You go tell that uni…the university…you tell 'em…this family don't need…"

He is so focused on the sight of his letter falling to the ground in pieces, that he doesn't notice his father struggling to finish the sentence. He is so focused on the feeling of fatalism that overcame him the moment his father ripped up his letter, that he doesn't notice that George is clawing at his own shirt.

It is only when he feels his father's hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise, that he looks up to see George turning a deep red colour, his face twisted and pained. He is not certain what is happening, as the weight of his father pressing on his shoulder forces him to the ground.

"Tell 'em…that…that…"

Before his eyes, his father's slumped body goes rigid and slips off his lap. Sheldon sits on the ground as his father jerks and goes still on the ground next to him. George takes in a deep rattling breath, before becoming utterly still.

George's eyes settle on him – and they are as distant and still as the night sky. Sheldon waits for his father to blink, to show some sign of life. But, he doesn't move.

"Dad?" He does not reach out to touch his father. He doesn't like to touch people. "Dad?"

Minutes pass without any movement. Sheldon scoots backwards on the floor, until his back is pressed against the wall next to the sofa, his knees pressed to his chin. He rocks back and forth, staring blankly before himself. In his mind, he maps the movement of stars in the galaxy. In his mind, he is far away.

Minutes become hours. He doesn't move from his spot, even when his mother returns and her cries of _Sweet merciful Jesus_ ring through the room. He doesn't move as his sister sobs and tries to drag him to his feet, terrified by his catatonic state. The men with the ambulance try to cajole him into moving.

He doesn't move.

When Meemaw arrives, she sits next to him on the floor, placing her hand on his. "You stay here for as long as you want, Moonpie," she whispers. "You do things in your own time."

The sound of her voice makes him turn his head to look at her warm blue eyes and the lines of her face that are the mark of a life well spent. Her understanding smile is too much for him. Almost choking on gratefulness for her mere existence, he finds himself suddenly overcome with tears. He is sobbing on her shoulder as she coos reassuring words into his ear.

"You let it all out," she says. "Don't you keep it locked inside that big brain of yours."

What he can't tell her is that he is not crying out of sadness. His tears are sheer relief.

* * *

><p><em><strong>17 November 2009<strong>_**, **_**9.00am**_

_**Caltech**_

President Siebert glanced out of the door of his office with undisguised irritation. He didn't know what Dr Cooper wanted, but he knew from experience that it would be something that would make his blood pressure spike.

He sat outside the door on the uncomfortable wooden bench – uncomfortable to discourage loiterers – with his hands clasped as fists on his lap, resting on top of a dossier. Siebert did not have time for this rubbish. Not today. And, if he were being honest, Dr Cooper had become rather a liability recently.

For years they had indulged his eccentricity, allowing him to wear his persona as a child genius around his shoulders like a garland. But, Dr Cooper would not be the first brilliant mind that he would have seen give way to lunacy. If that were the case, the most pressing question would be how to get him out of the university with the minimum of fuss.

Mrs Subramanium walked into his office, her glasses dangling from a long chain. He'd once had a gorgeous secretary, but his jealous wife (estranged wife) had demanded that he hire someone more _mature_ after his most recent indiscretion. She may not have been as attractive as Rachael had been, but he had to admit that she ran his office like a Swiss watch.

"Is he still just sitting there?" he asked irritatedly.

"I have a feeling that if you do not let him in, Dr Cooper will allow himself to fossilise out there."

"Send him in then."

Siebert sat behind his desk with his arms crossed and legs up on the table. He watched as Sheldon's eyes settled on his shoes on his desk. A strange tick forms in the corner of Sheldon's mouth. Rolling his eyes, Siebert put his feet on the floor.

"What can I do for you today, Dr Cooper?"

If Siebert were the sort of person who took the time to truly see people, he would have noticed that even as he sat in the comfortable armchair, Sheldon was wound tight. He was sitting straight and stiff as if a bolt of electricity had just travelled up his spine. His eyes were not cool and analytical. They were panicked and slightly mad under the warm light of the expensive lamp. He clutched his folder as if it were a life raft.

Today, Sheldon did not make his typically gauche comments about social niceties. ("_Oh so we're exchanging small talk, are we? How asinine."_). Instead, he simply slid the folder across Siebert's desk.

With a furrowed brow, Siebert opened the folder and read the carefully stapled paper that Sheldon had prepared for him. As usual, the first paragraphs of Sheldon's exquisitely crafted papers were dedicated to his profound love for the mysteries of the universe. Siebert idly noted that this was some of Sheldon's most eloquent ranting. But, eloquence did not get grants. Eloquence was no more than a plea to keep his job.

"What exactly am I looking at?"

"Fourth page," Sheldon intoned mechanically. "20th line."

It was a formula. Siebert frowned, leaning forward in his chair. "I've never seen this before."

"It's a proof."

"A proof for what?"

"It proves string theory."

There was a moment of deafening silence. Siebert placed the paper on the table and raised an eyebrow.

"Dr Cooper," he said slowly. "There's an old adage that comes to mind. Fool me once about solving string theory shame on you…fool me twice and we'll revoke your tenure."

Sheldon frowned. "I do not believe that is the adage."

Siebert ignored his prickling irritation and instead focused his eyes on Sheldon. At times, the mad scientist could be almost terrifying. There was no doubt that he was one of the most brilliant minds at the university. But, after Sheldon's triumphant email after his Arctic expedition, Siebert had called some of the leading scientists at Harvard and Cambridge to boast that a Caltech scientist had collected the data that would prove string theory. He had been humiliated.

"So you just disappeared into your office for a few months and came out with the formula that will reconcile quantum mechanics and general relativity?"

"Essentially."

"But you told me that the Arctic data was useless."

"I was wrong," he said simply. "I just was not ready to see the answer yet."

"And now you _are_ ready?"

"Now I _must_ be ready."

Siebert furrowed his brow, staring down at what was possibly the most significant scientific paper of the last century – or complete and utter rubbish.

"What am I supposed to do with this? After the Arctic debacle your name isn't exactly enough to justify taking this paper as is."

Sheldon had paled visibly at the reminder of the Arctic. But, he nodded. "Scientists at CERN and MIT are testing the formula. We will know in a few days."

Siebert nodded, realising with a start that he was coming close to believing the big whack job. He slid the paper into the top of his desk drawer. He was going to have to have some of his finest scientists study it.

"You realize that you've either made the greatest scientific discovery of recent memory or imploded your career, don't you?"

Sheldon stood up and clasped his hands in front of him. "President Siebert," he said seriously. "On my worst day, I am twice as smart as you. I assure you that I am well aware of the implications."

Siebert ignored the typical arrogance of that statement – not least because there was a possibility that it was true.

"Then we wait for a few days."

But Sheldon had already left the room.

"You crazy bastard," Siebert muttered before pulling the paper out once more and reading it again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>17 November 2009, 10.30pm<strong>_

_**Apartment 4B**_

The day had passed as a blur. After finally making the decision to end things with Leonard, Penny found herself oddly uncertain and terrified of being alone. She drifted through her apartment, as if she were waiting for something. She had ended things to be true to herself, only to find that she didn't know what it meant to be herself. It was a strange, terrifying sensation.

It wasn't until she heard his signature knock that she realized what she was waiting for. She had been waiting for a chance to confirm it – to test whether she still felt these strange feelings now that the pressure of being with Leonard was no longer on her shoulders.

When she opened her door, she found him holding bran loaf in his hand and looking down at his feet with a small overnight bag in his hand.

"Sheldon," she said, gooseflesh forming on her arms without any warning. She ran her hands over her exposed skin, allowing herself to momentarily remember the feeling of his hands on her that morning. Could it really have only been a few hours? It felt like years. "What are you doing here?"

"I cannot seem to sleep," he said. He spoke as if he were slightly mortified. He hated when things were out of his control. She could tell that he wasn't here willingly.

She stared at him intensely as he hovered on the threshold of her apartment. "So what am I supposed to do about that?"

Without warning, he looked up and met her eyes. She gasped slightly, for no apparent reason. She half-expected him to ask what was wrong. The truth was that she couldn't have told him why the sight of his blue eyes with the dark smudges of exhaustion under them made it hard for her to breathe.

"Judging by last night," he said softly. "I sleep better when you're by my side. Believe me, I am as surprised as you. But, I will need a proper REM cycle in preparation for tomorrow. So, I was wondering whether…"

"You want to sleep with me?" She said incredulously, without thinking her phrasing through. It was his turn to inhale sharply, his eyes widening with panic.

"I want to sleep _next_ to you," he qualified quickly, before peering at her through his eyelashes. "May I sleep next to you tonight?"

Penny couldn't deny the strange swoop of disappointment in her stomach. But, she pasted a smile on her face and shrugged as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

"Sure sweetie," she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears. "You can sleep next to me tonight."

"Thank you." He nodded formally before slipping passed her.

As his body brushed against hers, she longed to reach out to touch his bare forearm, but she restrained herself.

They didn't speak, both solemn in the moonlight. As he changed into his pyjamas in her bathroom, she slipped into the cool sheets. Biting her lip nervously, she listened to the sound of him brushing his teeth. She arranged herself in the bed when he turned the tap. She rearranged herself when he turned it off.

But, when he came out of the bathroom, she found herself strangely terrified, curled up on her side with her back facing him. Without thinking it through, she found herself shutting her eyes and feigning sleep.

She kept her eyes shut as he walked to her bed and paused contemplatively. In her mind's eye, she could imagine him tilting his head as if to calculate the optimum way for him to climb in after her.

As she held her breath, Sheldon Cooper climbed into bed with her. For a moment, he lay on his back, so close that she feel the heat from his body. Then, after a slight hesitation, Penny felt him turn over onto his side so that he faced her back. For a moment, Penny was acutely aware of the sound of night creatures outside of her window, the cool air and the warmth that was forming in their private world on her bed.

Then, to her surprise, Penny felt him reach out and wrap one arm around stomach and the entire world became the feeling of his hand on the fabric of her pyjama top. She wished suddenly that she had been wearing one of her slinky nightdresses instead of her t-shirt and pyjama pants.

_This is Sheldon_, she reminded herself. _He will never be interested in what you're thinking of._

But, a small voice in her head pointed out that she never would have expected him to want to spoon with her two night running. His hand twitched slightly, as if he longed to pull it away but found it impossible.

"Penny," he said softly into the dark and quiet room. "Is this alright?"

She should have known that Dr Whack-a-doodle wouldn't have been fooled by her attempts at pretending to be asleep.

"Yes," she responded quietly. "This is alright."

She wondered whether he could hear her heart beating.

If she had asked him, he would have told her that he _could_ hear it. It was beating as fast as his own.

* * *

><p><em><strong>18 November 2009, 8.00am<strong>_

_**2311 N Los Robles Avenue, Pasadena**_

In Leonard's defence, he had a perfectly legitimate reason to be standing at the door of his apartment. The bowl at the front door was the one area in the apartment that Sheldon didn't keep ridiculously ordered. Each morning, Leonard would sift through the accumulating detritus in the hope of finding his car keys. Before he and Sheldon had begun sneaking around each other, it had been Sheldon's unofficial job to collect the keys from the bowl for their drive to work.

But now, Sheldon all but lived at work, keeping his own hours. Leonard couldn't quite understand what was happening with Sheldon; all he knew was that two days ago he'd been in a relationship with Penny. Then, the very next day he'd found her sneaking out of Sheldon's bedroom.

He regretted his accusations now; he knew that he and Penny might possibly have been able to hold onto their relationship if he'd just done things slightly differently. He'd pushed her. And now the result was him being entirely alone. As he'd always feared he might be.

And here he'd thought that the Nice Guy had finally caught a break. He'd been foolish to imagine that he'd finally gotten what he'd deserved.

The sound of Penny's voice made him look up, peering through the peep hole of the door for just a glimpse of her maddening loveliness.

Through the peep hole he saw Penny open her front door, earlier than she'd ever liked to wake when they were together. She was still wearing her pyjamas.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you?"

Leonard's blood ran cold at the sound of that. Had it really taken only this long for her to find someone new? He felt an odd sense of panic at the thought – he felt insubstantial, like paper spread out over the ocean.

But, what he saw next positively took his breath away.

Sheldon Cooper walked out of the front door, holding an overnight bag. "If I wait for you to ready yourself for the day's activities I will be late. That is unacceptable." He paused, almost smiling as she looked at him with an exasperated grin. "Besides, you have done enough for me after last night."

"Any time, sweetie."

The sight of her face was like a punch to Leonard's stomach; in that moment, as she grinned up at Sheldon – going so far as to reach out and press her hand to his cheek, laughing when he pulled away, threatening to give her a strike – Leonard knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his suspicions had been correct.

As if sensing someone watching him, Sheldon glanced at the door to his apartment. Leonard ducked from view, feeling foolish as he hid. He knew it was silly to think that Sheldon could see him. Not to mention the fact that of the two of them, why should Leonard be the one hiding? He wasn't the one betraying Sheldon.

(_At least not this time_).

He shook the thought from his head. As Sheldon disappeared down the stairs, Penny stood there with a strangely dreamy look on her face.

Never. Not once. Not ever. She had never looked at Leonard that way.

Without thinking of the consequences, Leonard pulled open his front door and stamped out onto the landing.

"Leonard," Penny said, her face instantly tensing. He had caught her unawares. She glanced at her door, as if wishing that she could run through it.

He crossed his arms across his chest, his jacket pulling uncomfortably at his arms. "Well that didn't take long, did it?"

Penny narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I mean," he showed his teeth, as if smiling. But, he knew from her expression that his face was twisted nastily. "I expected you to get right back on the horse, but I'm surprised at your choice of rebound."

Her eyes hardened. "I don't know what you're talking about Leonard."

She turned to her door, but, he reached out to stop her from closing it. Perhaps he should have left it at that. Perhaps, he should have walked away. But, just this once he didn't want to make things easy for her. Just this once, he wanted her to acknowledge that he had spent years trying to make himself slot neatly into her world, when she had allowed the most rigid, difficult man Leonard had ever met just stroll right in.

"I think you know what I'm talking about. Or was that not my roommate leaving your apartment?"

She looked at his hand holding her door open. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh no?" Leonard asked incredulously. "Just yesterday, you told me I was _crazy_ to think that there was anything going on between the two of you."

She shook her head. "There's nothing going on."

"You can't honestly expect me to believe that." She tried again to close her door, but anger had made him strong. "And you don't get to walk away from this conversation. Not this time."

She gave up trying to close her door and instead mirrored his crossed arms. "I didn't have sex with him, if that's what you're asking." She looked over his shoulder at his open apartment door. "We just slept."

Leonard snorted. "Sheldon came over to sleep in your bed?"

"Yes," she said, finally meeting his eyes. "That's all that happened."

He couldn't quite put his finger on her tone. She sounded almost disappointed. At the sound of it, he dropped his hand from her door. "Penny," he said, more gently this time, his anger fading. "Do you have feelings for Sheldon?"

"No. I don't know." She shrugged, her eyes filling with tears. "But even if I did, it's not the reason that I ended things between us. Nothing's happening between me and Sheldon. I didn't lie to you. He's just - "

"You do, though, don't you?" Leonard swallowed, trying to loosen his tight throat. "You have feelings for him."

"I…don't know what I'm feeling." She shook her head, pressing her palms to her temples. "I'm sorry, Leonard. I'm just…I don't know."

Out of sheer habit, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. "You know, right?"

"Know what?" she whispered.

"You know that nothing is going to come of this."

"What?" She pulled back to look at him.

She looked so lost that his resolve hardened. He was saying these things for her own good. And maybe, just maybe, if he convince her of what he was saying, he would have another shot at them.

"Sheldon's never going to feel the way you do. He's not capable of it. He's selfish, he doesn't think about other people. I mean, you know this. This isn't a newsflash."

She broke their hug, stepping back across the threshold of her apartment. "I don't want to talk about this with you."

"Well you should," Leonard said, his voice still gentle. "Because I know Sheldon better than anyone. And he doesn't feel anything."

She wiped away a stray tear that had found its way down to the side of her mouth. "Actually, Leonard, Sheldon does feel things. And right now, he feels betrayed. Because of what you did."

With a sad sort of sigh, she closed the door on his face.

"I'll see you later," he said, to no one in particular.

He wasn't sure why he felt so guilty.

* * *

><p><em><strong>13 November 1999, 11.00pm<strong>_

_**Bellevue, Nebraska**_

There is a boy that everyone laughs at.

He is small and skinny and too smart for his own good. He doesn't bother anybody, but he inspires a queer, consuming anger in the boys with broad shoulders who wear letterman jackets.

He is not frightened of the boys with their jackets; he sees the best in all of them. He smiles at her in the hallway. When she smiles back her friends laugh at her.

_Ohmygod. Penny loves Kyle Carlton!_

_Ew, no I don't. He's totally gross. _

He smiles over his shoulder at her and she feels shame deep in her soul. But, she laughs with her friends and crosses back over that line to where the popular kids mill around with all the preciousness of adults.

Each of them wants desperately to be thought of as original, but not a single one of them would ever consider doing something other than what the crowd wants them to do.

Penny has an English class with him. He reads poetry in class with a wavering voice and tears in his eyes when the rest of them intone flatly to show how little they care. They laugh at him behind their books as the teacher glares at them. He is the brightest in the class by far and sometimes Penny wishes that she could slip out of the wretched caste system of school and sit next to him, to understand his extraordinary mind.

One day, the teacher asks him to read a poem aloud to the class. He stands there, all thin limbs and glasses.

_I remembered you with my soul clenched_

_In that sadness of mine that you know._

_Where were you then? _

_Who else was there?_

_Saying what?_

_Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly_

_When I am sad and feel you are far away?_[1]

"What," says a boy in the back row. "Did he write this poem for his right hand?"

They all laugh, even Penny, who moments earlier had been struck dumb with the beauty of his words and the sound of his voice. Kyle doesn't mind their laughter. He is kind and they hate him for it.

She doesn't know why the boys at the campsite invited him. He is a freshman, like Amanda and her. They are the only freshmen here.

Penny feels sorry for him as she huddles next to Chris Parker (_a junior!_) and watches the fire dancing in the campsite. The camping trip was his idea. She and Amanda are lucky to be invited. They grin at each other from across the fire. They are young and beautiful and going places. And Chris Parker has his arm around her.

Penny glances at Kyle, watches how the boys have formed a tight circle around him. He is still smiling serenely at them as they pluck his glasses off his nose and spin him around in circles.

"What are they doing to him?" she asks.

"Just having a good time," Chris says. "Relax."

Kyle is no longer smiling.

"It doesn't look like fun for him."

Chris is nuzzling her neck as one of the boys makes a sharp gesture into Kyle's chest. "If he wasn't having fun, don't you think he would have said something?"

"I guess," she says, her face burning by the light of the fire.

A large boy with curly red hair marches over with his hand clamped on Kyle's shoulder. "We're going to play a game. Hide and seek. With our buddy Kyle here. You want in, Parker?"

He glances at her as she bites her lip. "I'll stay here thanks."

"Suit yourself."

For a moment, Kyle looks into Penny's eyes as if trying to tell her something, as if begging her to say something. She cuts her eyes away as one of the boys shoves Kyle hard in the back before they disappear into the trees.

That night, Chris Parker kisses her in a campsite and she lets him get to second base. They leave at sunrise and when she sees that Kyle isn't there, she doesn't say anything. She looks out of the back window as they drive away, as if expecting to see him standing there with that strange smile of his.

Later that day, a park ranger finds Kyle, bleeding and naked in a pile of wet leaves. He goes to hospital with pneumonia.

The police interview all of them. Their story is that Kyle wandered off in the middle of the night. He had issues, they say. The rumours spread around school like wildfire. Kyle scarcely goes to class. He sits in English slumped and silent until the bell rings.

Penny says nothing about seeing Chris and his friends throwing around Kyle's broken glasses. She says nothing about the way they pushed him into the night until it swallowed him whole.

She says nothing for the small, geeky kid whose only mistake was to see something good in everyone.

One day, he stops coming to school.

She is strong, she is popular – she and Chris Parker have started going steady. But each day in English, Kyle's empty seat is a ghostly reminder of the boy who used was the only truly original person in her class.

She promises herself that next time she'll take better care of people who can't take care of themselves.

But it is too late and his seat remains empty.

* * *

><p><em><strong>18 November 2009, 10.30pm<strong>_

_**Apartment 4B**_

She didn't want to admit that she was waiting for the sound.

_Knock-knock-knock_ "Penny." _Knock-knock-knock_ "Penny."

At the sound of his knocking, Penny closed her eyes. She held a glass of wine in her hand, near her temple.

_Knock-knock-knock_ "Penny."

She would have liked to ignore his knocking – but when has anyone been able to ignore Sheldon? She would have liked to sit in this dark room, lit only by the candles she lit to calm herself. Her heart, her stomach and her whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.[2] With a resigned sigh, she walks to her front door and opens it.

And there he was. Tall, brilliant and blinking against the bright colours of her apartment. Her heart tightened at the sight of him. She could scarcely swallow when she saw that he has in his hand a jar of olives. One of his conversational ice-breakers. And a rather strange one at that – obviously purchased quickly from the grocer downstairs.

"What do you want, Sheldon?"

She felt irrationally angry with him for being so close to her and yet too far away for her to reach out and touch. Her voice came out more harshly than intended. He looked down at his feet, looking more crestfallen then she can ever remember seeing him.

"I'm sorry, Penny," he said formally. "I seem to have disturbed you. I will go."

But, the sight of him turning away from her was even more painful that having him stand there. His eyes were too innocent to wound that way. Nothing that was happening in this apartment was his fault.

"Sheldon, wait - "In spite of herself, she reached out and grabbed his coat cuff, knowing that he wouldn't respond well to her clutching his hand. He looked down at her hand holding onto his clothes, swallowing audibly.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just been a rough couple of days. Would you like to come inside?"

"Why else would I have knocked at your door with a jar of olives?"

"Sure," she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Silly me."

She returned to her glass of wine, leaning her elbows on the kitchen bench. She could tell that the wine was making her mind duller, less guarded. For a moment, she wondered what it would be like to get him drunk. Perhaps then –

No, she reminded herself. Leonard was right. He would never feel the butterflies that she felt at the pit of her stomach. For a moment, she felt a wave of irrational anger.

"You seem tense," Sheldon said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, watching her drink. "You might consider doing some Tai Chi or yoga in the evening instead of drinking wine."

She ignored his statement. "So is this how it's going to be from now on?"

"Excuse me," he blinked.

"You're going to come over and sleep in my bed?"

She was using what he called her Nebraska voice. It was her fight voice and he was terrified to hear it. He didn't quite see what he had done, but he knew well enough that when she used that voice it was time to run.

It occurred to him suddenly, that he had in his mind a complete catalogue of her facial expressions. He knew what each expression meant. He had learned her, the way some people learned a foreign language. It had happened without him noticing; he had learned Penny. He had memorised her. And it was as natural as breathing.

And it was terrifying.

"I'm disturbing you. I should go back to my apartment."

"Oh no you don't," she said stepping around the kitchen counter, all blonde hair and determined expression. "I just want to know whether this is how it's going to be. I want to know what's happening in that big brain of yours, why you're falling apart in front of me. I want to know why you can only sleep when I'm with you."

"I don't know," he said softly, looking more exposed than he had ever looked before.

"But you know everything," she said, her eyes boring into his, making it impossible to move. "You're Dr Sheldon Cooper. And I want you to tell me if this is it. If this is all we're going to be.

"We're friends," he frowned, confused. "What else could we be?"

"_More_."

She didn't know what she was doing. She would defend herself, saying that it was a moment of insanity. But, her words would be largely meaningless. Words were the last thing on her mind at that moment. There was nothing but Sheldon standing in her kitchen, looking terrified and confused and excited.

It was a look that she had dreamed of seeing from someone one day. It was a look of total vulnerability.

For the last few years, she had drifted between men. The connections she formed were brief and meaningless. Even as she committed herself to having some fun, there was something sad about the impersonal interactions. The sight of a man who only hours before had been a stranger buttoning up his shirt and hurrying towards the exit always reminded her of her first time – the sound of her parents' fighting still ringing in her ear.

It was not until her relationship with Leonard that she had seen something new on a man's face. Leonard looked at her with such needy hope that it made her heart ache. Leonard looked at her, and she cut her eyes away – terrified that he would one day see that which she tried so desperately to hide.

This was different. The wide-eyed vulnerability of Sheldon was something entirely new. She knew that he had never had the opportunity to explore this side of his nature. In all the time she had known him, he had never let himself be _this_ vulnerable. The fact that he was standing before her with hope and terror in his eyes was exhilarating. But, she knew that she must have looked just as terrified as him.

With shaking hands, she reached out to clutch his lapels. For a moment, she looked into his eyes – searching for some indication that he wanted her to continue on this course of action, searching for a sign that Leonard's cruel words had been no more than jealousy. Her hands twisted the fabric of his jacket.

From the periphery of her vision, she could see his hand reach up. For a moment, she assumed he would be untangling himself from her. But instead, with no more force than a butterfly landing on a leaf, he spread his fingers on the plane of her back.

She felt oddly small and precious under his hand. She let out a strange half-sigh. Then, moving more gently than she would have thought possible, she stood on the tip of her toes, lifting one hand to press to his cheek.

With agonising slowness, she moved her lips to his, until finally their lips met.

For a long moment, he was utterly still. She pulled back slightly, trying to gauge whether he was about to shut down. She felt a nervous giggle building inside of her at the thought of calling Mary Cooper to explain that how Penny had broken her son. But, she was too nervous to allow herself to laugh. She didn't want to scare him – at least any more than she already had.

Sheldon's eyes were dazed in the low light of the kitchen. But, then, with a suddenness that stunned her, he pressed her flush against him and bent down his mouth to hers. It was overwhelming, the feeling of exhilaration and terror that came from Sheldon's ragged breathing and the feeling of his lips on hers. Where once she would have battled for dominance, all she could do was try to catch her breath and pull him _closer_-_closer_-_closer_, but never close enough.

Moments passed. Or perhaps years passed. For all she knew galaxies formed and disappeared in the single suspended moment of her kissing Sheldon.

Then, too soon – or maybe just in time – he released her from his spell. His hand was still in exactly the same position on her back. Utterly lost for words, Penny could do no more than shake her head, looking up into his face.

"Sheldon," she said in a voice she didn't recognise. She could see his Adam's apple bobbing nervously as fought for breath.

Suddenly, he pulled back, eyes shifting furiously around the room. The absence of his hand on her back came with a strange sense of loss. She bit her lip and tried to read his expression. But, he was utterly inscrutable – and obviously completely panicked.

Then, his eyes fell on her face. The strangest look came over his face as he shook his head mutely. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then seemed to think better of it.

Suddenly, without uttering a single word, he turned on his heels and all but ran from the apartment, leaving Penny with her hand pressed to her lips wondering whether she'd dreamed the entire thing.

* * *

><p>[1] "Clenched Soul" by Pablo Neruda<p>

[2] _Love in the Time of Cholera_, Gabriel Garcia Marquez


	6. Chapter 6: Thinking, Tangling Shadows

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Six: Thinking, Tangling Shadows**

…_Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing_

_I think, I explore great tracts of my life before you._

_My life before anyone, my harsh life._

_The shout facing the sea, among the rocks,_

_Running free, made, in the sea-spray._

_The sad rage, the shout, the solitude of the sea._

_Headlong, violent, stretched towards the sky…_

- Pablo Neruda, "Thinking, Tangling Shadows"

* * *

><p><em><strong>12 June 2001, 10.30am<strong>_

_**Bellevue, Nebraska**_

She comes home at lunch time to enjoy a few moments of precious solitude while her mother and father are at the Show.

She had gone to school, waving to her father from his truck as he and her mother drove in silence down the long dusty road until they disappeared entirely. The moment they had disappeared from view, she had shrugged her shoulders and slouched back towards the twisting roads that would lead to the bus stop.

It would have been easier to simply have a sick day, but her parents never would have left her alone in the house. Any trust between them had evaporated the moment her father had walked in on her on her knees before Dean Gutherie. Or had it been Andrew Brean?

She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember anything but the bright red of her father's face as he yelled in her face and the white of her mother's knuckles as she twisted her hands on the table. She looked at her mother's face, trying to see whether the kisses of the boy in the barn can be seen even now.

They had stopped yelling eventually, after the words had made little cuts in the fraying connection between them and their daughter.

Now she longs for silence. She longs for stillness and silence until she can leave this place and move to California - to make a life out of her dreams.

The house is still and silent – it is exactly what she needs. She sighs, runs her hand over the kitchen table, before wandering into her bedroom.

The violence is sudden and unexpected. One moment she is standing at the door of her room, and the next, she is pinned against the wall next to her poster of Freddy Prinze Jnr.

She tries to speak, but her brother's hands are tight around her neck. He is choking the life from her. She rips at his hands, trying to prise them from her neck.

"Le…..go….g-g"

His eyes are wide and vacant – his hair wild. He looks worse than she remembered, she muses even as black spots dance in her vision.

Then, with no warning, his hands are gone and she is sinking to the ground, gasping for breath. From the floor, she listens to her own rasping breath, staring up at her big brother with wide eyes.

He is running his hands through his hair, eyes no longer vacant – looking everywhere, focusing on each object in the room in quick succession. His arms are covered in cuts.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" he says, his voice husky from lack of use.

She massages her neck, her fear and shock giving way to anger. On her bed is the bracelet her parents gave her for her thirteenth birthday. It is gold and by far the most beautiful thing she has ever owned.

She looks between her jewellery box, on its side on her bedspread, and her brother who can't stop pacing on the spot.

"You're stealing from me, Jimmy?"

Her words make him stop dead. Finally, his eyes stop darting and he truly _sees_ his little sister with her knees at her chin and with the red marks forming on her neck.

There had been a time when he'd held her on his shoulders. He'd been broad-shouldered and popular then. She had been proud of him.

Now, the look on her face is disdainful and it hurts him more than any physical sensation he can recall. He has become remarkably resilient to physical pain.

She climbs to her feet. She was never one to be knocked down for too long. And he was not someone who liked to see himself reflected in another person's eyes. The distance between this sullen, defiant look and the way she had once shouted _that's my big brother_ in front of all her friends in the playground made tears prick his eyes.

"Don't talk to me like that. I'm your brother."

She crosses her arms, leaning against the wall. "No, you're not. I don't even know who you are."

"Don't _talk _to me like that, Penelope."

She shrugs. "Take what you want. It's not like you care about anyone but yourself anyway."

He can't control himself these days. In one fluid moment he balls his fist and punches the wall right next to her face. For one blinking moment, she thinks he is taking a swing at her face and throws up her hands to protect herself.

His fist passes right through the wall and wood and plaster cover her. Her hand is bleeding and her hair is covered in dust. She is not scared, she is not angry. She just looks incredibly sad.

"Penny – I'm…Please, I'm not myself. Please."

But, just what he is asked for, he doesn't know. Without saying a word, she walks over to her bed and picks up the gold bracelet. With her head lowered, she walks over to him and takes his hand in hers. She opens his fist – she opens his fingers – and drops her bracelet in the centre of his palm.

"Take it," she says softly.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, her face blurring before his eyes as tears fill his vision. He is backing out of the room. He is backing out of her life and disappearing the way her father's truck did.

She knows that within hours he will have forgotten that she exists, drugged out of his mind and running from himself.

She cleans her room and lies on her bed, thankful at least that he hadn't found her secret stash of money for California. She lets the blood dry on her hands, mindful that there will be a scar on her wrist for the rest of her life. But she doesn't mind. Life inscribes itself on all of us.

Already she has learned that love is pain. She loves and is hurt by her brother as he is hurt by things he has done to her.

When her parents get home, she pretends that it is nothing. She doesn't sell him out. Because they are happy for once – dancing in the kitchen, laughing at the sales they made that day.

She watches them solemnly from the doorway. They hide the truth from each other; it is the family way.

Hiding and running. That is what all of them do best.

* * *

><p><em><strong>19 November 2009, 7.30am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

Leonard had become a stranger to himself. Or perhaps he had always been a stranger to himself. For years, he had haunted his parents' house, adopting the pose of a cold and abstract scientist, while really crying out for warmth. He had passed his days, not quite living, just killing time.[1]

It had always seemed like a trade off. To fit in with his family, he played a role – always cerebral, always unemotional and analytical. To fit in with Penny – or before her, Priya – he had folded up his interests and hidden them from sight.

He had been the perfect caregiver for Sheldon, always so quick to blend in with prevailing opinion, always so eager to please. While Sheldon often frustrated him, when he was honest with himself, he probably wouldn't have been comfortable with any other dynamic. With Sheldon's strict schedule tugging him back he had never had to truly take the measure of himself – to see what his life was to him.

And now, because of his own actions, he felt Sheldon pulling away from him –he saw Raj look at him differently. He watched Howard feeling a strange loss as Raj disappeared from their day-to-day interactions.

He didn't want to be alone. Or maybe he _was_ alone and didn't want to admit it. He couldn't make sense of this strange, fluttering panic in his stomach when he heard from Penny that Sheldon had shared her bed.

_You do, though, don't you? You have feelings for him._

_I…don't know what I'm feeling. I'm sorry, Leonard. I'm just…I don't know._

He had heard Sheldon slip out of the apartment last night, but he had been back within five minutes – all but running to the safety of his room, his Fortress of Solitude.

It hadn't seemed fair, that morning he saw Sheldon smiling and leaving Penny's place as she stared dreamily after him, for someone like Sheldon, who had claimed never to have needed any of them, to find something odd and surprising and terrifying across the hall.

It hadn't seemed fair. So, Leonard had poisoned it. He had told her that Sheldon wasn't capable.

_Sheldon's never going to feel the way you do. He's not capable of it. He's selfish, he doesn't think about other people. I mean, you know this. This isn't a newsflash._

She had run from it, of course, she hadn't wanted to hear these words from her ex-boyfriend.

_I know Sheldon better than anyone. And he doesn't feel anything._

Since the words were uttered, Leonard had oscillated between regretting them and telling himself that it was true.

So, this morning, as Sheldon ate oatmeal, Leonard watched him from the darkest corner of the kitchen, sipping coffee and trying to control his stomach. He couldn't quite tell which of them – himself or Sheldon – was the true Lex Luthor in this story. So, he watched Sheldon, hoping to see some sign that Leonard had been right, that Sheldon was the automaton they all assumed he was.

If Sheldon was disturbed by the scrutiny, he gave no sign of it, reading a carefully folded note in his hand. Truth told, it had been a while since they had been in the same place at the same time. Silence had overtaken them. They had studiously avoided each other. Until this morning, when Sheldon seemed oddly unhurried to get to work. He chewed his breakfast slowly, reading the letter carefully.

"What are you reading?" Leonard asked pleasantly.

Sheldon looked up slowly. His eyes were so readable, sometimes. First, he noted Leonard standing there, drinking coffee. Second, he processed that he had been drawn into the social convention of exchanging inane chit-chat in the morning. He calculated the possibility of escaping the exchange, before concluding, upon a short review of all popular culture he had interacted with, that exchanging chit-chat with a roommate was a non-optional social convention. So, he signed and placed the note on the table.

(_Really, Penny? This guy?_)

"I am reading a letter from my MeeMaw."

Even by Sheldon's standards, that had been brisk. Leonard found himself examining Sheldon's face more closely. His arm was crossed against his stomach, as if protecting himself from some unknown threat. His eyes were hooded and dark. They were bloodshot and exhausted.

"How is she?" Leonard asked, watching closely the play of emotions upon Sheldon's face. Warmth towards his grandmother, concern for her. Confusion about the wide world and anything other than the celestial mysteries of the universe.

"She is well," he said, his voice softening in spite of himself. Then, he looked down. "She worries about my mother and Missy and our brother, George. She worries for them when she should be taking care of herself."

"She worries about you?"

It was not really a question, but Sheldon appeared to be considering the point deeply.

"She worries about all of us," he said slowly. "But she worries most about me because she does not understand why I am the way I am. She worries that I spend too much times with eyes star-ward. She speculates about what has made me the way I am. She speculates because she fears I will be alone."

Leonard found the sound of his heart was almost overpowering. Sheldon spoke in soft, resigned sentences. Not sad – more than that. He seemed resigned to the words he was speaking. For the first time in all the years he had known Sheldon, Leonard fancied that he might have been afraid for himself, that there might have been, somewhere deep down inside of him that did not relish being as different as he was.

"What do you tell her?" Leonard asked, knowing better than to ask the question more directly than that.

Occasionally, Sheldon would seem so different to the rest of them. It wasn't when he was a know-it-all – they could all recognise that impulse from their own childhoods. That need to feel valuable in some way. They may have walked the halls of high school mocked and derided, but they were smart, damn it. And in the real world smart people would be rewarded.

(How foolish they had been to imagine that high school ever ends.)

It was moments like this, though, when he did not moderate his gaze, when didn't misunderstand a social convention, when he saw into himself and into the world around him with a clarity that _burned_ – it was moments like this that Leonard was almost scared of him.

(And maybe a little bit scared _for_ him.)

"I tell her that she has nothing to fear."

Leonard thought for a moment that Sheldon might say something, something like that he was satisfied being surrounded by colleagues, something like having friends was enough. Perhaps then Leonard could have reassured himself that he Sheldon would be fine, that his sensibilities just did not accommodate romantic relationships, but that he didn't mind.

"I have always been alone," Sheldon said simply. "And I always will be."

With that, Sheldon stood up and walked to the sink, carefully filling it with water close to boiling temperature and measuring out the appropriate detergent ratio.

Leonard didn't quite know what to say. He realized, suddenly, that no matter how lonely Leonard became, he would never be as alone as Sheldon Cooper. Sheldon's genius had seen to that.

As he strolled passed Sheldon's spot at the counter, he glanced down at the note, only partly folded. With a guilty look at Sheldon's back, he allowed himself to read a few sentences, partially cut off by the fold of the paper.

…_some of what your father did to you, though Missy is as quiet as a mouse about it for your mother's sake. _

…_told you when you were a boy - don't let the jealousies of a man like that steal happiness from you._

…_of us like to be alone. I thank the good Lord that you have your friends out there in California. I hope that you let them see passed your amazing brain and into your _

…_heart._

Wordlessly, Leonard found himself hurrying to his bedroom, eager to escape his own invasion of his roommate's privacy.

There was no denying the guilt that he felt, but quick on its heels was self-justification. Just because he felt for Sheldon does not mean that he was wrong about Penny. They would make each other miserable – Leonard knew it for sure. It was natural, he supposed, for them to turn to each other; they had always been in engaged in a strange alliance.

(Even now, a tiny voice is his head shouted '_mine_, _mine_, _mine_!')

Perhaps there was a way that Leonard could help Sheldon find some companionship without being forced to give up on the image of his own life with Penny – an image he wasn't ready to give up on, an image for which he would sacrifice those more objectionable parts of his personality.

It was for their own good, really. It was good for all of them to avoid the inevitable disintegration of their social group when awkwardness between Penny and Sheldon inevitably ensued.

There had to be someone out there who would be compatible with Sheldon. Struck with an idea, Leonard grinned to himself, before sitting on his bed and opening his laptop.

If there was one sure fire way to find Sheldon's soul mate, it would be over the Internet.[2]

And then, perhaps there was a way for Leonard to make things right with his own.

* * *

><p><em><strong>14 February 1995, 11.00pm<strong>_

_**Heidelberg Institute, Germany**_

It is night and the sound of the water outside his living quarters keeps him awake long into the night.

His father is dead and he is in Germany.

He knows he should feel something akin to loss, but instead he is filled with a strange emptiness.

He shares these quarters with a woman from Texas. At forty years old, the university must have assumed that she could be a mother figure to him. Certainly, her chirpy, Texan accent on the line with his mother seemed to put Mary Cooper at ease. She is a widow as well. She is a Texas girl through-and-through. She is a familiar element.

He could hear his mother's laughter over the phone. He could hear it as clearly as he heard Brianna's bright red nails tap-tap-tapping on the kitchen counter in the public area that divided their bedrooms in the small apartment.

Even going to Germany hasn't changed anything. The older members of the Faculty still look at him in that appraising, calculating way, as if trying to determine how best to move him on a chessboard. His students tried to outwit him, but seeing that it was impossible, settled into a grudging respect. They look at him with that same resentfulness that he has seen in every classmate he has ever had.

But, he is fifteen, alone and he can't sleep – and there is something predatory about the way Brianna looks at him. It unsettles him, almost as much as the thought of leaving the apartment to disappear into the dark night.

Brianna enjoys leaving the apartment at night. She is a visiting professor, just like him, even though she looks more like a woman working at a bar. She teases him and tries to make him go out for a drink with her. The smell of her perfume makes his eyes burn.

But, he doesn't complain. Because, his mother is laughing again and because no one things to ask whether he is happy. His mother warned him before he left that he was a guest in Germany. He wasn't to be ungrateful and difficult. He was to make himself scarce. She _still _didn't think it was a good idea for him to go off to Germany by himself. His MeeMaw had convinced her – so he wasn't to let her down.

(Only a few weeks ago he had been pressed up against the wall of his living room watching the life drain from his father.)

He wonders whether he should try to sleep again when the front door opens and Brianna slips in, smelling European – of cigarettes and wine. He wonders whether he can slip away into his room without talking to her.

But her eyes seek him out. She is tipsy. "Good evening, Dr Cooper."

"Good evening, Dr Welles," he says nervously, standing up and edging towards his bedroom.

"What are you doing up so late?" she smiles as she prowls across the room in her high-heeled boots.

"I can't sleep," he says softly, still edging towards his door.

"Well, I see," she drawls, drawing still nearer to him. His Adam's apple bobs nervously. "Maybe we need to do something about that."

"What would _we_ do about that?" he asks, confused.

"Tire you out," she says.

Without any warning, she grabs him and pushes him against the wall – the way his father used to. He braces himself for a blow, he braces himself for the violence of family. Then, as his eyes widen in panic, she plants a kiss on his mouth. He tries to pull away, but she holds him fast.

Just as suddenly, she lets go of him, her eyes suddenly sad and distant in the darkness of the room. He blinks at her, his mouth stained by her lipstick.

"You look just like him," she says softly. "Just like when he was a boy."

Sheldon avoids her eyes – uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He is trapped under her hands, clutching his arms. Her eyes are dark and wavering, they are filling with tears. He doesn't know what to do with her pain, just like he doesn't know what to do with his own. He guards himself from intrusion – he needs to bathe, to clean his face and mouth, to brush his hair. He pulls away from her needy embrace.

"I'd like to go to bed now, please," he says, his voice like a whisper.

She lets go of him. She hides her eyes with her hands. He leaves her in their living room.

When morning comes, she is gone. The administrators at the Institute do not replace her with anyone. He spends the next four months alone and finds that he prefers it.

He doesn't think of love, even as he learns its lessons. He has learned that love is pain and love is loss. He is suffocated by the love his mother gives him, he is suffocated by his sister, the apology in her eyes. He is told that his father loved him.

He learns to organise his life just so, never allowing for chaos, never allowing for doubt. He wonders how the universe was made.

He vows never to let anyone else force him against a wall.

* * *

><p><em><strong>19 November 2009, 12.30pm<strong>_

_**Caltech**_

Sheldon had been subdued all day. Raj had noticed it all day.

The day had started with such potential; Leonard and Sheldon had arrived together for the first time in months. Raj had felt his heart tighten at the sight – knowing suddenly that things would be fine between them. As long as they could all go back to pretending. As long as _all _of them could – including himself.

(Not that he was hiding anything, or anything – nope, nothing to see here.)

But, as the day progressed, Sheldon had seemed distant and unfocused, which was exceptionally rare for him.

Eventually, Raj sighed heavily, throwing his work to one side.

"Okay, dude. Spill it."

Sheldon raised an eyebrow. "Not having a beverage in hand, I am afraid that I do not comprehend the request."

"What is up with you today? You're as distracted as Blair Waldorf when she planning a take-down."

Sheldon blinked twice, before chalking that comment up to Raj's strange fascination with popular culture intended for hormonal adolescent girls.

"I am finding myself unfocused today. But I assure you that it will not stand in the way of my imparting my wisdom and insight."

Raj rolled his eyes. "I'm going to ignore how condescending that was and instead ask again, what's up with you?"

Sheldon ran a hand over his desk, leaning back in his chair and staring dully at the equations on his white board.

"I find myself struggling to find motivation today."

Raj frowned. "I thought your motivation came from the fact you have a massive intellectual boner for physics?"

Sheldon wrinkled his forehead at Raj's crass articulation. "I find myself wanting to play the piano."

Raj could not have been more shocked, even if Sheldon had announced that he was an extraterrestrial. In fact, that would have made a lot more sense.

"You play the piano?"

"I used to," Sheldon shrugged. "I found the science of the instrument quite pleasing."

Raj was utterly speechless, while gesturing for Sheldon to continue.

"I enjoyed the sound of a middle 'A' string vibrating 440 hertz per second. I enjoyed the predictability of the ratios that formed an octave: going up a fifth, from A to E and the way it multiplies the frequency of vibration by 3/2 to 660 hertz. Were you aware that the Greeks discovered that two strings played together sounded pleasant if the lengths of the strings were in ratios of small whole numbers – such as 2:1 (an octave), 3:2 (a fifth), 4:3 (a fourth) and 5:4 (a third)?"[3]

Raj stared at him blankly, noticing how pleasant Sheldon's expression became when he was discussing something purely intellectual. He was almost smiling as he imparted these facts. Raj found himself examining Sheldon – his tall frame, the way his dark eyelashes looked against the pale skin of his face. He was, probably, the most masculine in appearance out of the four of them. Raj had found himself stealing looks at Sheldon in the Arctic, noting his slender frame, his height when he wasn't stooping to talk to the rest of them.

Raj shook his head as if to clear it. "So why don't you go play the piano?"

Sheldon cocked his head to the side. "I have never felt the need to deviate from my schedule in order to play. I also lack an instrument."

"What about the Cheesecake Factory? They have a keyboard at least."

At the mention of the Cheesecake Factory, Sheldon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I do not believe they would welcome my presence to use their instrument."

"Penny would let you play when they pack up. It's not like you haven't played it before. Or play to the bar crowd after dinner. Chicks love guys who play music."

Sheldon's face creased with distaste before falling into a contemplative silence.

"I do not believe Penny would welcome my appearance at her workplace," he said finally.

Raj couldn't hide his surprise. "What did you do?"

"_I _didn't do anything," Sheldon said resolutely, with a small self-justifying nod. Raj almost smiled at the way his voice changed when he spoke of personal matters. At these times, he became a little bit Texan – the way Penny became a little bit Nebraskan after a few too many drinks while watching college football.

"What did she do, then?"

"Nothing of consequence."

There was a beat of silence.

"Raj," Sheldon said slowly, glancing at his hands. "Why would a woman kiss a man? I mean, when there isn't a biological imperative or one is not administering CPR."

Raj found himself surreptitiously pinching his own leg to make sure that he hadn't slipped into some sort of lucid dream. It was a rare occasion that Sheldon wanted to discuss the things that Raj had read in his sister's magazines.

"Because she like him?" Raj found his voice raising at the end of his sentence, as if he were asking Sheldon a question. "Because she's drunk? Because she is trying to express romantic interest? Because he brought her a gift?" Raj paused, considering the question and his own personal experience. "Sympathy? Boredom? Low self-esteem?" Raj paused. "I don't know, dude. It's kind of a matter of context."

"I see."

For an insane moment, Raj wondered whether there was some connection between Sheldon mentioning Penny and then asking him – but surely not. Surely Sheldon would have mentioned if something were going on between him and Penny. Then again, Sheldon did keep his cards fairly close to his chest. Raj tilted his head, wondering how he could broach the question.

"What are the contextual clues?"

"I'm really not an expert, in this," Raj shrugged. "But I guess the biggest clue would be if she said 'I like you.'"

"And supposing she didn't? Suppose that a woman had asked you to clarify certain ambiguities that had emerged in your relationship paradigm, and when you said that you were their friend, they indicated that you could be 'more', without elaborating further apart from the unsavoury exchange of fluids. What would that indicate?"

Raj grinned to himself. "It indicates that she's got a boner for you like you have for physics."

"Doctor Koothrapalli," Sheldon said imperiously. "I was raised in a Christian household. I would appreciate if you could respect that when discussing the finer points of social interactions."

"I'm just calling it how it is," Raj shrugged, before straightening his back and employing the sort of language that would assist Sheldon's comprehension. "I believe that in such a context, the kiss was intended to elaborate upon the 'more'."

"I see," he said, but in such a way that Raj really doubted he did. "And what would be considered an appropriate response to this course of action?"

"I suppose that kissing back would be a good start, but other than that it's hard to know. I would imagine that the woman would expect him to kiss her back, and then probably some kind of indication about how he felt about her." Raj stared into the middle distance for a while. "Although in the ideal scenario, I suppose that the kiss would be so earth-shattering that it spoke for itself. Although, the woman might expect the man to show that he reciprocates in some way."

"Well," Sheldon said, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should return to the topic at hand."

Raj figured that he was probably correct; any more talking about feelings and they'd probably have to start braiding each other's hair. But, even as Sheldon commented on Raj's work, he could tell that his brilliant friend was still brooding over his words.

Raj found his own mind wandering. Call it a premonition, call it instinct - but Raj thought that things might be about to get very interesting.

For some reason, the thought of Sheldon stepping so far out of his comfort zone – and if his suspicions were correct, with _Penny_ of all people – made Raj feel strangely elated. If someone as difficult and stubborn as Sheldon could throw himself to the wind, then perhaps there was hope for Raj.

* * *

><p><em><strong>19 November 2009, 10.30pm<strong>_

_**The Cheesecake Factory**_

It had been a nightmare shift, and Penny felt exhaustion deep within her bones. Although, in reality she couldn't blame the Cheesecake Factory for her mood. This strange feeling had settled over her spirit from the moment Sheldon had run away from her apartment.

She should have known better than to push him this way; she should have known better than to imagine that he would react to her kiss with anything other than blind panic. Perhaps Leonard had been right and that she was crazy to imagine that anything could come of her strange infatuation. Perhaps his need for her, his strange insomnia that only her presence could cure was an aberration, was no more than a momentary lapse of sanity.

But, it had not been her imagination. He had placed his hands on her and kissed her until she was breathless, kissed her speechless, kissed her the way only characters in movies kissed.

And as she went about her shift, the memory of it made her toes curl and heart beat. She fancied she might see his face when she turned around, she heard him say her name, she wondered whether the imprint of his hand had seared it's way into her flesh.

He had kissed her _back_, dammit.

And the thought of his wide eyes, his fear and excitement and nervousness and knowingness made her think that anything was possible.

But gradually, as it always seemed to, the day's potential dwindled to nothing. She found herself working behind the bar, watching as drunk men made sloppy moves on her co-workers – little Bernadette was much fiercer than Penny had predicted – and the women who sat there, waiting to be snatched up by these humdrum guys.

The crowd had thinned, and Penny found herself wondering whether she might be as clichéd as these women. She wondered how long she could live a strange half-life before she truly became what her mother had feared. Maybe she wasn't _meant_ to be looked at as if she were the one mystery of the universe that he could not unravel.

Perhaps her feelings for Sheldon would continue the way her dreams of Hollywood stardom did: perhaps she would be destined always to crave and yearn to revisit that moment in her apartment.

"Is everything alright?" Bernadette asked from the other side of the bar, in her high, sweet voice. "You seem down."

Penny noticed suddenly that she had been cleaning the same glass for about ten minutes. It was a quiet night, with little to distract her from her macabre thoughts.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Just trouble…with a guy. Of sorts."

"Well, I'd tell you to forget about it and flirt with some of the guys here, but all the guys here are pigs." Bernadette paused, examining the crowd once more. "And they're not even cute."

Penny chuckled, before frowning again as she shined a glass. She could understand why Bernadette was concerned; they usually passed their shift together laughing and joking with one another. Of course, Bernadette was just the latest in the string of brilliant people she had met in California. Penny was a complete geek magnet.

Of course, not when it came to attracting the biggest geek of them all, she mused darkly.

"Oh wait," Bernadette said, excitedly. "That guy is pretty cute."

Penny looked up without much interest. Only to find herself staring at Dr. Sheldon Cooper.

"Penny?" Bernadette prompted her, before noticing the dazed, frozen expression on Penny's face. The man who had just walked in was clutching his knapsack close to his chest, searching the room before his eyes fell on Penny.

Bernadette could almost sense the strange current of electricity passing between Penny and the guy Bernadette had mentally dubbed TDH (Tall, Dark and Handsome).

"Sheldon?" Penny whispered, although she must have known that there was no way even with his Vulcan hearing he would be able to discern her words.

"You know him?"

But, Penny seemed oblivious to her friend's presence. Instead, she watched intently as Sheldon ignored the other patrons, the other waitresses, the rest of the world – his eyes focused entirely on Penny's face.

It was as if he was being drawn in against his will. It was as if his actions weren't his own. Certainly, they hadn't felt like his own since he walked out of the apartment long after he would usually be preparing for sleep. It was insanity, it was everything he swore he would never do.

When he arrived at the bar, Penny still said nothing, staring into his blue eyes, trying to make sense of this sudden deviation from his routine, searching for some indication of what he was doing here.

Suddenly, Sheldon looked down at his feet, seeming to reconsider what he was doing here – feeling dreadfully out of place in the near-empty bar. He bit his lip, as if searching for something to say.

"Hi," Bernadette said pleasantly. "I'm Bernadette."

He nodded at her, without meeting her eyes. He looked so exposed and miserable that Bernadette's heart ached for him. She wished there was some way to mentally communicate with Penny. Suddenly, Penny seemed to wake up.

"What are you doing here?" Penny asked, finally locating her voice.

He peered at her through his long, dark eyelashes. "I have been feeling the strange urge to play the piano all day. I was hoping that I might be able to make use of your employer's keyboard?"

"You want to play the piano?" Penny said frowning, confused as to what this was.

"That would be great," Bernadette said brightly. "The band cancelled tonight. Wouldn't that be great, Penny?"

Penny glanced at her, noting her encouraging nod. Penny shrugged, feeling that familiar confusion fill her. Why must he be so cryptic? Why couldn't he just talk to her like a regular person?

But of course, he was anything but regular.

He seemed to be waiting for Penny's agreement. When she nodded, he bowed his head, before walking to the small stage where unsigned, usually untalented people usually sat and tapped out Billy Joel songs. Penny watched as he sat at the piano, lost in thought, lost in the sight of white keys. She watched as he pressed one key and then another. Then, he placed his hands in his lap before looking at her, where she stood frozen at the bar.

He looked down at his long, elegant hands. Despite his quiet, contained movements, most the few patrons left in the room were looking at him. So dignified was his seat at the cheap keyboard. It was as if the room were holding its breath. Or perhaps only Penny was.

Then, without any particular warning, he began to play. Before their eyes, in this drab little restaurant, Sheldon's hands created the most beautiful music that Penny fancied she had ever heard.

He had played before, of course. There had been that, years ago when he had played show tunes while downing what he assumed were virgin drinks. She hadn't wanted to admit it at the time, but a part of her had enjoyed watching him losing himself in the music.

But, nothing she had seen had prepared herself for the mastery that she witnessed then. When he played the gentle, whimsical introduction to the piece, his eyes were closed. She fancied that he couldn't even hear the rest of them – couldn't hear the awed comments of his impromptu audience, couldn't hear Bernadette sigh and mutter "_Liszt_ – my favourite". He seemed utterly lost in the complex key changes and the dance of his hands on the keyboard that really didn't deserve his talented ministrations.

As the piece came to a climax, his eyes opened and met Penny's. She couldn't help but gasp at the look on his face. As his hands moved across the keyboard he watched her with a heartbreaking expression on his face, as if laying his soul bare. It was the sort of music that transported you from the mundane to the exultant – the kind of music they played in old sandstone buildings while wearing black tie.

It was, in a word, so _Sheldon_ to walk into a room with down-at-heel furniture and shopping aisle lights, and to turn it into something elegant and old-fashioned. It was so Sheldon not to worry about what others thought of him, to be who he was no matter what force pressed him to change.

And for the life of her, she could scarcely catch her breath at the sight of him.

"Bernadette," she whispered. "What song is this?"

Bernadette had her hand over her heart. "It's 'Liebestraum' by Liszt. It's based on three love poems."

Penny could feel her eyes prickling, as if tears were forming. She struggled to contain herself. "What are the poems about?"

Bernadette turned to her, smiling knowingly. "One about a matyr who renounces worldly love. Another is about…well…desire, I suppose. And the last is about unconditional love. Mature love. The love that lasts."[4]

"Well," she breathed. "Ain't that something?"

He didn't break their eye contact until the dying notes of the song, until every last phrase had been articulated with the perfection of a maestro. Then, the song ended and he casually pulled out an anti-bacterial wipe and cleaned his hands.

Typical Sheldon, Penny mused wryly, never one to do things by halves. And then, as suddenly as it had started, the music ended and he opened his eyes to find every last person on their feet applauding for him.

He seemed surprised and confused as to why they would feel compelled to express their admiration this way. He stood up without acknowledging them. Returning to the bar, where he had left his knapsack, he stood red-cheeked before Penny.

"Thank you," he said formally.

"You're welcome, sweetie," Penny breathed.

He turned as if to walk away. Then, pausing for a moment, he looked back at her his face serious. "I will see you later?"

"Oh yeah," Penny said with a grin. "You'll see me later."

He couldn't help the half-smile that formed on his face. "Very well," he said evenly, his solemnity lying in stark contrast with the self-satisfied smile on his face.

(In fact, Penny was well aware that they were grinning at each other like teenagers.)

Then, with a nod at Bernadette, Sheldon turned on his heels and strode out of the Cheesecake Factory.

"Seriously," Bernadette sighed. "If you don't want him, I'll have him."

Penny laughed and shook her head. It was just the latest scene in the confusing, absurdist play that was life with Sheldon Cooper.

"Trust me, you don't know what you're getting into."

Penny couldn't wipe the grin off her face for the rest of the night. Later, when she sank into her tub, she wondered why she felt so elated, when all he had done was walk into the Cheesecake Factory and play the piano.

It occurred to her suddenly, making her sink further into the tub and bite her lip to stop from laughing aloud.

She had a strong suspicion that she was being _courted_ by Sheldon Cooper.

* * *

><p>[1] Radiohead, "True Love Waits".<p>

[2] I think you all see where this is going to go. I couldn't resist – Amy is too great a character. I think you and Leonard will be surprised.

[3] Thank you to Dr Math for this.

[4] Cribbed from Wikipedia.

**A/N: Next chapter – thank you so much for your reviews and messages. I hope that the slow pace of this chapter wasn't too frustrating. I was hoping to lay down some clues as to the next stage of the story. And yes, next chapter there will be more Shenny action.**


	7. Chapter 7: Genius

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Seven: Genius**

…_If you see a young man who has frowsy hair _

_and distraught look, and affects eccentricity in dress, _

_you may set him down for a genius._

_If he sings about the degeneracy of a world _

_which courts vulgar opulence _

_and neglects brains, _

_he is undoubtedly a genius. _

_If he is too proud to accept assistance, _

_and spurns it with a lordly air _

_at the very same time _

_that he knows he can't make a living to save his life, _

_he is most certainly a genius. _

_If he hangs on and sticks to poetry, _

_notwithstanding sawing wood comes handier to him, _

_he is a true genius. _

_If he throws away every opportunity in life _

_and crushes the affection and the patience of his friends _

_and then protests in sickly rhymes of his hard lot, _

_and finally persists, _

_in spite of the sound advice of persons who have got sense _

_but not any genius, _

_persists in going up some infamous back alley _

_dying in rags and dirt, _

_he is beyond all question a genius…_

- 'Genius', Mark Twain

* * *

><p><em>16 November 2009<em>

_Dear Moonpie,_

_I was thinking of you this morning when I cut the roses in the garden. Do you remember cutting roses with me when you were a boy? You'd hold my basket and talk my ear off about particles and the stars. And I would listen and not understand half of what you were saying. You told me you were going to make a cat scanner for Snowflake and I thought you were just playing with your MeeMaw. Of course I should have known better. I should have known that if you put your mind to it, you'd do it. _

_You haven't written to me, Moonpie and know why. I know that you're embarrassed and you're licking your wounds until you can think up something in that big brain of yours. I know this is your way, and you have to do what you have to do._

_But, if you think for one moment that I am disappointed in you then you don't know your MeeMaw after all. Because there is nothing in this life that you could do that would make me anything other than proud of you._

_I have always been so proud of you, Moonpie. Not just because of your smarts or any of those prizes you won. I am proud of you because of who you are. I am proud of you because in spite of those bad things that have happened to you, you find a way to do the right thing. I am proud of you, always._

_But, I think you know that I worry about you, alone out there in California. I worry about the people around you who may be jealous of how special you are._

_I worry that your daddy made you think that you always had to be on your guard. I know some of what your father did to you, although Missy is as quiet as a mouse about it for your mother's sake. We all should have protected you better._

_I don't like talking ill of the dead, but, what I want you to remember is what I told you when you were a boy – don't let the jealousies of a man like that steal happiness from you. You will always be my nummy little Moonpie. But, you're also a man. And a man's heart needs tending just like his brain._

_I worry that because of him you shut yourself off from people. You might be special, Moonpie, but none of us like to be alone. I thank the good Lord that you have your friends out there in California. I hope that you let them see passed your amazing brain and into your even more amazing heart. _

_I don't want you to get to my age without ever having let anyone know that heart of yours. Find someone you can trust and give your heart to them for safekeeping. Make sure it's in safe hands. What's in there is just as extraordinary as what's up in your head._

_Every time I think of you I send love your way. _

_MeeMaw_

* * *

><p><em><strong>20 November 2009, 12.45am<strong>_

_**Somewhere else**_

They are alone here, in the stark wilderness of a moonscape.

They are alone because everyone is gone – lost in some catastrophe or perhaps coming to find them. She isn't sure. For now it is just the two of them. He will keep them safe. They do not touch, but he is everywhere. He moves the universe around them.

The ground at her feet is a vibrant red, but bare and barren in the thin air. They are waiting for the end to come, but she is not afraid.

Because he is with her.

She watches as he writes equations across the sky; she watches as he bends the universe to his will. With a thoughtful look on his face, he writes her name in the sky. When he turns to face her, his eyes are so blue that they remind her of the way the sky once was.

"I found the answer," he says softly. He stands with her name written behind his head in the sky, he stands with her name written across his chest, over his heart.

She does not say anything, but with one toe, she writes his name in the dust at her feet.

"So did I," she says.

Their names are written on the sky, on the earth, on their skin.

_Sheldon_, her heart says.

And his responds, _Penny_.

Without uttering a single word, they walk to each other – and there on the face of a dead planet - their lips meet, their souls meet, they are one in the same.

They do not break the kiss. Not even when the stars begin falling from the sky.

She awakes with a start. For a moment she is waking and dreaming at once. She is with Sheldon at the end of the world and his name is on her lips in Pasadena.

"Holy crap on a cracker," she says breathlessly, before pulling her doona to her chin and curling her toes.

_What the hell was that?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>19 November 2009, 12.30am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

Sometimes, when he was a lone and couldn't sleep – when everything was still - Sheldon fancied he could _feel_ it.

He could perceive of the vast vacuum that existed before anything existed. He would make his mind trace it back. His mind would contract from the grand spaces and the abundance of the universe – quantum mechanics writ large – smaller, until it was no more than an infinitesimal speck of matter.

_Go deeper_.

He would hold in his mind's eye that infinitesimal speck that contained all of creation, and then he would make it smaller, until it was a spot so tiny that it could be called only a singularity.

_Go deeper._

For a moment, his mind would strain to hold all that he knows in that tiny space that is no space at all.

And then he would relive it. He would see it in his mind's eye.

He would see the moment, 10 billion years ago, when from nothing sprang the universe. He would watch as the matter that made up the world, his apartment, himself burst into existence from nothing. He would watch planets form.

And then, for one brief and glorious second he would see it in his mind – three dimensional, _four_ dimensional – in its unblemished completeness: the breathtaking universe that came from something so tiny. He could have lost himself in the vastness of his own mind.

Then, without fail, something would bring him back from his perch on the edge of creation. He never knew quite what made him return to his conscious mind. But, he had a feeling that it had something to do with the overwhelming feeling of loneliness that would overcome him, make him wish that he didn't have to be alone all the time, that someone could know the inner workings of his mind.

The thought always brought him back, but when he returned he was acutely aware of the four walls of his bedroom, the terrible silence of the world he had created for himself.

And that was how he found himself, hours after he had audaciously played the piano for Penny, lying in the centre of his bed, wide awake.

What madness had come over him to look in her eyes and play his favourite music – to show a room full of strangers what odd longings had awoken within him.

Now was the time for focus.

In a few hours, he would sit in President Siebert's office and learn the results of the tests that had been run by the most brilliant minds in the world – at CERN, at Cambridge – to find out whether his proof for string theory was correct.

He found it hard now, even with his eidetic memory, to recall the circumstances in which inspiration had struck. How had torn apart his office as Penny begged him to stop, to rest, until suddenly it had been clear to him what symphony the monopoles at the North Pole had been singing in the stunning whiteness of the world's crown.

Now was not the time to allow anything to distract him.

And yet, hadn't that moment of distraction with Penny been the key to all of this? And what next, if he had indeed achieved his life's ambition. What next for him?

He had never considered what would happen next – would he just wait for the prizes that would inevitably come? Would he just wait for a call from Stockholm? Without his work, he was lost. The one question left for him was: what next? And for the first time in his life, he found himself not knowing the answer. There was so much uncertainty now. There was no map or schedule.

But, most troubling was that he had scarcely thought of it. Preoccupying him most was a single thought. Not about his work, not about physics, not about the way universe ticked away around him.

All he could think of was the way Penny had whispered: _more_ and searched his eyes for an answer. He couldn't stop thinking of the way she'd laid her hand on his cheek and kissed him on the lips. But more than that, he remembered the free-fall that followed – the way that he had clutched her like a life-raft, kissed her breathlessly as she pulled him closer to her until they almost became one being one entity. Until they became as infinitesimal as the grain from which the universe sprang.

And then he had broken away. He had run back to his apartment and cleaned himself. But not because he was fearful of her germs – for some reason, he hadn't even thought of the germs. He had run back to his apartment and washed his face because he had lost control of himself. She had breached his boundaries and that was unacceptable.

Except he had gone to her tonight, gone to show her – what? To send her a message perhaps. To say without words: _please be patient with me._

His hands spread across the cool bed – he realized suddenly that it felt too large without Penny. He remembered how it had felt to lay his hands on her stomach. He adjusted himself in bed, suddenly oddly aware of his skin, of the texture of the doona, of his pyjamas. He wondered what it was that had caused this hyper-awareness.

_I wish Penny were here._

Sheldon's eyes widened at the thought that seemed so alien to him that it might have been whispered in his ear.

But now that the thought had come upon him, he couldn't help but imagine her skin, her hair, her eyes, her laughter next his hypersensitive body.

So, for the first time, he surrendered to it and let his mind imagine sensations that he had never experienced before.

He fell asleep imagining her mouth kissing him and hands touching him. His last conscious thought was wondering whether some day he might be able to experience it for real.

He fell asleep with her name on his lips and with his brilliant mind bringing her to life behind his eyes.

* * *

><p><em><strong>20 November 2009, 7.45am<strong>_

_**Apartment 4B**_

It had been a night of vivid dreams and Penny found herself waking earlier than usual.

She had an audition today and usually her stomach would be full of nerves. But this morning, she found that all she could do was smile to herself and drift around the apartment, listening to Liszt on YouTube.

She had never been interested in classical music – preferring the hard beats of the music she listened to before hitting the clubs. She enjoyed losing herself in music, she enjoying the feelings that it evoked. There was something about listening to dirty pop music – "Right Round" or "I Got a Feeling" – that made her feel like the night was full of potential.

But, this morning, as her kitchen filled with delicate light, she found herself longing for music with depth and complexity. She couldn't get the thought of Sheldon playing piano out of her head.

_I found the answer._

_So did I._

She shook her head to clear it of her dream. She needed coffee. And that meant a visit to Apartment 4A.

Suddenly, the butterflies that had been strangely absent this morning appeared in her stomach. She found herself glancing in the mirror, examining her appearance. Satisfied, she hurried across the hall and knocked on the front door. She knocked three times, like _he_ always did.

When the door opened, she felt a swoop of disappointment when Leonard answered. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze as he took in her pyjama shorts and skimpy top.

"Penny," he said with a nervous smile. "Since when do you knock?"

"It's something new I'm trying," she smiled back, trying to forget their last fight, trying to forget the cruel words he'd said about Sheldon. She'd done her fair share of things she regretted during break-ups. She held up her mug. "I don't suppose you'd be able to cater for a coffee refugee?"

"Of course, come on it."

His laugh was a little too eager. It reminded her of that funny little breathy laugh that Sheldon did – purely because he thought that it was social convention to laugh. What Penny wouldn't give to make Sheldon _truly_ laugh – to tickle him mercilessly.

It seemed like such a remote possibility that Penny found her buoyant mood dim slightly as she followed Leonard into the apartment. She strained her neck to see Sheldon, but there was no sign of him.

"So," she said, leaning on the counter. "What's new?"

"With me?" Leonard laughed nervously. "Not much…you know…the usual. Wolowitz and Raj are coming over tonight to watch the _Star Trek_ movie we missed because of…the thing. You should come."

"To watch _Star Trek?_" she repeated incredulously. "Won't it be kind of weird if I'm there too?"

"No," Leonard said a little too quickly. "It'll be like old times."

A strange silence fell over Penny and Leonard and as one, they turned around to see Sheldon standing at the entrance of the kitchen, clad in a towel with face beet red. Penny fancied that she and Leonard had sensed the heat emanating from him. But, all thoughts of causality were momentarily cast from her mind as she took in his legs, the v-formed by his hips and the way shoulders looked, marked by gentle muscles. But most of all she was entranced by his messy wet hair.

_What up, Moonpie!_

Penny found that she couldn't quite locate her tongue. She couldn't do anything but take in the sight of him – and for his part, he seemed oddly trapped in place under her gaze.

Leonard looked between them and frowned darkly. "Any particular reason you decided to give us a show?"

If possible, Sheldon blushed more fiercely. "I was going to ask you whether you had a tie, Leonard."

"A tie?" Leonard asked, forgetting his irritation at the sight of Penny drooling into her coffee cup. "Why do you need a tie?"

"I have a meeting," Sheldon shrugged. "My instructions were to 'avoid wearing anything that looked like it had been stolen from a fourteen year old boy at Comic-Con.'"

Penny cleared her throat, trying to hide her grin in her coffee cup. Even Leonard looked amused. "I have that tie with the DNA helix on it..?"

"That could work," Sheldon said speculatively.

"Why don't you let me help you get dressed?"

Both Leonard and Sheldon whipped their heads around to look at her.

"Excuse me?" Sheldon said.

"Come on," she said with a grin. "I'll just help you pick something out. You guys are clearly hopeless when it comes to this sort of thing."

"I resent that - " Sheldon started on his usual diatribe, but before he could finish, she grabbed his hand and started dragging him back to his bedroom.

Leonard was left in the kitchen, feeling oddly like he had lost a game he wasn't aware he was playing as Sheldon desperately tried to keep his towel in place under Penny's man-handling.

She dragged him all the way into his bedroom. He almost told her that 'people aren't allowed in my bedroom', until he realized that she had not only slept in his bed, but that more than once she had made a guest appearance in his dreams.

When she dropped his hand and closed the door behind them, she found that her confidence had disappeared. He was standing awkwardly in the centre of his room, feeling horribly exposed. She was nervous and tongue-tied, suddenly less confident of what his serenade at the Cheesecake Factory had meant. She should have known better than to corner him.

For a moment, she took in the sight of him in his towel, his pale skin glowing in the early morning sunlight. For that moment, she allowed herself to indulge in all her fantasies of what she would be doing to him if he weren't so…_Sheldon_.

Then, it was down to business.

"Okay," she said nervously, opening his closet to find her eyes assaulted by super-hero t-shirts of every colour. She masterfully worked her way through the closet until she found a pair of grey slacks with the tags still on.

"Sheldon," she exclaimed happily, brandishing the coat-hanger. "Where did you get these?"

"Missy sends me clothes from time to time," he shrugged.

"Is there a jacket?"

He nodded wordlessly, before walking over to his well-organised closet and pulling out a suit jacket. She grinned, taking the jacket and giving him the pants.

"Put these on. I'll find a shirt."

"Okay," he said softly.

She realized suddenly that they were standing incredibly close to each other. She didn't quite know where to look. He didn't seem to be suffering from any such affliction; his eyes were on her face. If it were possible to put the song he had played for her into a facial expression, then he was doing it right now.

"I'll…just turn around while you put on the pants," she said in a voice she didn't recognise.

She found herself suddenly eager to get out of the room as she listened to him rustling around with his pants. But, an equal contradictory urge never to leave the room almost overtook her.

"Finished."

If she had hoped that him putting on pants would help matters, then she was much mistaken. He looked – what was MeeMaw's word? _Nummy, nummy_. So, she busied herself looking for a button down shirt, chattering away nervously.

"…that's why I don't think you should wear a tie. I mean, it'll just make you uncomfortable and meetings are stressful enough."

She pulled out a white shirt and turned around to hold it up against his chest. He was closer than she expected. With a shaking hand, she held up the shirt to his skin. Then, he did possibly the last thing that she expected. He reached out and put his hand over her shaking hand. Incredibly gently, he pulled the shirt out of her hand and hung it on the door knob.

"You're shaking," he said softly, still holding her hand only millimetres from his skin.

"I think that's the right shirt," she responded quickly. "It'll look good. I mean you'll look good."

"Penny."

She froze as he whispered her name like an incantation. She was absolutely still. She looked straight ahead of her – chest-height – not wanting to meet his eyes in case he saw how nervous she was in his presence.

Using the sheer force of her will, she dragged her eyes to meet his. "This meeting today. Is it about what you've been working on? What you figured out the other night?"

"Yes."

"It's important?"

He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing – showing her that she wasn't the only one in the room who was horribly nervous. For some reason, the sight of him looking so vulnerable was enough to galvanize her. She smiled softly at him, pressing the hand that was still wrapped in his to his heart. It was pounding so hard that she was surprised she couldn't hear it.

"Then good luck."

Before he had a chance to lecture her about luck being no more than a superstition, she reached up on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek, near the side of his mouth.

With his one free hand he reached up and touched his cheek where the ghost of her kiss still lingered. Then, he reached out with the same hand and pressed it to her cheek. The feeling sent waves of heat across her skin.

"Thank you for your assistance, Penny."

He was uncertain as he pressed his hand to her cheek. She held her breath, giddy in the knowledge that he was the one taking the lead. He swallowed audibly, before leaning down to kiss her on the side of the mouth – the exact mirror of what she had done. Then, he kissed her on the other side of her mouth.

More slowly than she had ever though possible, he leaned forward once more, freeing the hand that had been holding hers and instead using it to press her lower back towards him.

"You're welcome," she whispered, running her hand down his chest, causing gooseflesh to appear on his side. He closed his eyes at the sensation, before leaning down once more to press his lips to hers –

"Sheldon," Leonard's voice carried through the door as Sheldon pulled away. "We have to get to work."

Penny all but growled in frustration as Sheldon ran a hand through his damp hair. He looked at her, disappointment and relief on his face.

"We have to get to work," he said simply.

"Of course," she said, clearing her throat and taking one more baleful look at his bare chest. "Wear the white shirt and the jacket. Maybe I'll see you tonight for _Star Trek_?"

He frowned in a way that made it clear that Leonard hadn't mentioned the plan to him. Her hand was on the doorknob, when suddenly she realized that they might always be this way. They might always be interrupted by Leonard, or too nervous to make a move. But, it didn't have to be this way. It would take no more than thirty seconds of bravery to change the way this scene would end.

"Screw it," she said decisvely, before turning on her heels, marching up to him and running her hands up his bare chest as he stood wide-eyed and gaping at her.

She couldn't find the words to express what she wanted to say, the importance and seriousness of what she was feeling for him – how being around him made her want to be better. So, she reached her hands up his chest and placed them on his shoulders, seeing him visibly relax at this more familiar form of contact. She kissed him tentatively at first, half-expecting him to bolt, but soon enough she kissed him with increasing urgency, standing tip-toe to get as close to him as possible. She felt his hands slide hesitantly down to her waist and she knew then that he wouldn't bolt.

She kissed him, trying to convey all her fears, all her hopes for the future – trying to tell him everything she couldn't say aloud. For a moment, he was frozen under her hands, until suddenly, his hands caught up with his brain, which she could feel ticking over.

With a strength she didn't know he possessed, he pulled her back and back, until his calves hit his bed and he fell into a seated position. She pulled back, grinning at his swollen lips and glassy eyes before straddling his lap and continuing to kiss the life out of him.

She could have laughed aloud at the feeling of his hands wrapping around her, bringing her closer to his chest, running up her legs.

His heart was beating erratically and he was trembling, but he wasn't pulling away. She didn't want to end the kiss, but she slowed it down, until they were giving each other light pecks on the mouth. She pressed her forehead against his, her arms loosening around him.

"So…I'll see you later?" she said.

He offered her a quirky smile. "That's my line."

She laughed before bounding out of the door. She nearly bowled Leonard over in hallway, where he stood with the double helix tie wrapped around his fingers.

"See you tonight," Penny called to Leonard as she hurried passed him.

"Great," Leonard said unconvincingly. "This will be nice. It's been a while since we've all gotten together. It'll be nice."

But, she was already gone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>20 November 2009, 9.00am<strong>_

_**Caltech**_

Sheldon arrived on time, clutching his messenger bag over his suit and settling himself on the seat outside of President Siebert's office.

He nodded at the older woman who guarded the president's office and then placed his fists on his knees, holding his bag closely to his chest.

"I'll let President Siebert know that you're here," she said, staring at him appraisingly. She had been at work for two hours now. Siebert and Dr Gablehauser had been in intense discussions with any number of foreign notables all morning.

Sheldon spread his hands out on his knees, moving his fingers as if he were playing the piano. He found more and more the songs in his head were not those old masterpieces he had always like the most, but rather those poetic, emotional songs by Joni Mitchell that Penny's mother had liked. Two weeks ago, when he'd heard her singing Joni Mitchell in his kitchen, he hadn't been able to get the songs out of his head. He had downloaded two of her albums. Leonard had looked at him strangely when he'd started humming along with the radio two nights ago.

He found himself once more stuck in the infinite loop of Joni Mitchell, unable to stop himself from humming strangely in the waiting room.

_Down to you _

_Constant stranger _

_You're a kind person_

_You're a cold person, too._

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the door of Siebert's office fly open until the president of the university had all but yanked him to his feet – so enthusiastic was his welcoming handshake.

"Well," Siebert said, grinning widely. "If it isn't the man of the hour! Come in, come in."

Sheldon blinked at him. He had never been greeted so enthusiastically by the man. Actually, he had never been greeted so enthusiastically by anyone that he could remember. Before he had a chance to say anything, he was being conveyed into the opulent office, where he was greeted by Dr Gablehauser and a man he recognised as the Director-General of CERN.

Rolf-Dieter Heuer was wearing a button down shirt the exact same shade of white as his hair and his beard. He wore a scarf draped over his shoulder.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr Cooper," he said, not struggling in the least with English.

"Guten morgen, Professor Heuer. Es ist eine freude sie zu treffen. Sie sind ein langer web von Genf."

"Sehr wahr," Heuer responded, shaking Sheldon's hand. "But it was worth the journey to meet you in person."

As the four men settled in their seats, Sheldon pulled out an anti-bacterial wipe and cleaned his hands. His stomach was twisted in a nervous knot and he wished that he had been gifted with Penny's easy way with people. As it was, he found himself sitting opposite one of the big names in particle physics and he was tongue tied and uncertain.

He noted suddenly that the stack of books on the edge of Siebert's desk was not quite aligned to the edge. It would be the easiest thing in the world to walk over and fix them.

He realized suddenly that Siebert had been speaking. As he eyed the crooked books, he could almost hear Penny's voice: _Just shut up and listen, Moonpie. And try not to say anything too…you._

"…are still coming in, but all of the most brilliant mathematical minds in the world have looked at the proof and no one can find fault with it."

Heuer leaned in, shaking his head incredulously at the young physicist. "The preliminary tests at CERN support your theorem. Of course, it will take time to collect enough data to say conclusively, but there is already powerful evidence that your proof does indeed achieve what we thought was impossible. You have – and I cannot believe that I am able to say this is my life time – shown that string theory unifies quantum mechanics and general relativity."

"Do you realize what this means?" Siebert all but crowed.

"Yes," Sheldon said simply.

"It means that you've written the formula for Grand Unifying Theory," Gablehauser elaborated needlessly. "And, while I admit that I was surprised to learn that you approached President Siebert directly in relation to your findings, I understand now the significance of your paper." He smiled widely and slapped Sheldon on the back, earning himself a shudder and a glare for his efforts.

Siebert laughed – finding everything that Sheldon did today was endearing and quirky rather than irritating and threatening. "I feel like I should offer you a drink, my boy. But I suppose it is too early for that." The other men chuckled while Sheldon listened to strains of music in his head. "So we're going to have to settle on a cup of tea."

"I am not in distress," Sheldon said, furrowing his brow. "A hot beverage is unnecessary."

"Nonsense," Siebert said, his grin so wide across his face that Sheldon suspected that it had started to ache. "I don't want to be mentioned in your memoirs as the man who denied you tea."

As Siebert fell over himself to be affable, Heuer leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to Sheldon.

"I understand it must be very overwhelming," he said softly. "But when you have had a chance to…digest the news, I should very much like to discuss with you the possibility of your joining us at CERN."

"Now, now Dr Heuer," Gablehauser said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dr Cooper is going to have his hands full with his _Caltech_ obligations for a while."

"That's right, Rolf," Siebert said, thrusting a cup of tea at Sheldon. "I've got press calls for every science editor in the country wanting a comment about Caltech's favourite son. We can't have you stealing him away to Geneva."

There was a silent struggle in the room as the three men traded coded jibes about Sheldon's future. He saw to his surprise that his hand was shaking slightly. Not knowing what else to do, he took a scolding sip of tea.

Was he overwhelmed? He didn't feel overwhelmed. In fact, in the face of the biggest achievement of his career - perhaps the biggest achievement in physics in the last fifty years – Sheldon found himself feeling oddly deflated and empty. He longed to be alone in his room, reading his comic books. Or perhaps sitting in his spot, watching television. (In all honesty, a part of him just wanted to be with Penny –and the thought terrified him).

The suffocating walls of mahogany were almost too much for him. The predatory voices of the men as they charted his future sounded like white noise.

Things were getting out of control.

So, with a look of overwhelming focus, Sheldon got up from his seat and walked over to Siebert's desk, where he put each book back into its rightful place. It seemed only natural to collect Siebert's pens in his hand and place them in their rightful place.

The men were silent as they watched him organise the desk. Heuer fell back in his chair, fussing with his beard.

Siebert turned to Gablehauser and spoke in an undertone. "He is going to be a nightmare with the press, isn't he?"

"Probably," Gablehauser shrugged. "But they expect him to be a little crazy."

"Well then, I guess they won't be disappointed."

* * *

><p><em><strong>20 November 2009, 12.30pm<strong>_

_**Caltech**_

Howard and Leonard sat together in the cafeteria, not quite talking, not quite silent. They had gotten used to dining with just the two of them present. Neither of them wanted to admit how depleted their ranks felt with just the two of them. Certainly, Raj's increasingly frequent absences were leaving Howard in particular bereft and moody. It would have been even more difficult to acknowledge that Sheldon left a hole that was not easily filled. Not only did they miss his anecdotes, but they also missed having a common enemy to fun. Without Sheldon there, it was far more difficult to blame the carefully polished routine on anyone except themselves.

Today, there was a strange buzz around the lunchroom – a palpable sense of expectation and gossip. The sort of ambiance that is the enemy of thought, but is the friend of sharing small tidbits.

Leonard and Howard slumped over their lunches, watching as their colleagues hurried between their tables.

"What is up with everyone today?" Leonard squinted at his colleagues as they hurried around the room.

Howard yawned with disinterest. "I don't know. Did the cafeteria run out of tots?"

"You think all the fuss is just scientists jonesing for junk food?"

"Your people love the tots, Leonard," Howard shrugged, taking a bite of his non-kosher sandwich.

Without warning, Leslie Winkle stood up, threw her napkin on the table and stormed out of the cafeteria.

"What a lovely display of PMS," Howard commented, still shovelling food into his mouth.

"I think it was a little more than PMS."

Leonard and Howard looked up in surprise to see Raj standing over them. Before Leonard's eyes, there was a strange play of emotion between his two friends, as if they were engaging in a silent battle of wills. It was as if a silent dialogue was unfolding between them.

_Apologise._

_No._

_Tell me you miss me._

_I won't, but I do._

"Are you joining us for lunch?" Leonard asked, hopeful but also doubtful.

Raj glanced down at the papers in his hand before nodding silently and taking his usual seat next to Howard.

(This is the way a war ends, Leonard mused.)

"So," Howard said, his face more animated than it had been for weeks. "What's the 411? Why does Leslie look like she's about to go on a killing spree – you know, more than usual?"

"I'm still having trouble believing it," he said, before handing them copies of Sheldon's paper.

"What's this?" Leonard frowned.

"What Sheldon's been working on 24/7," Raj said in an almost reverential voice.

"Do you want to give me the Spark's Notes version?" Howard said, leafing through it.

"Trust me, dude. You're going to want to read all of it."

It was a sign perhaps of how much they had missed Raj that Leonard and Howard shrugged and started reading what had the makings of being an extraordinarily complex paper.

Leonard's first, grudging impression was that it was an extraordinarily good paper. If he was honest with himself, he often liked Sheldon in print more than Sheldon in person. His palpable passion for physics could be suffocating in the living flesh. But on paper, his words were inspiring, edifying, transcendent.

_When confronted with the order and beauty of the universe and the strange coincidences of nature, it's very tempting to take the leap of faith from science to religion. And yet, as scientists we live by faith in the power of reason. The ultimate challenge for logical brains is that most fundamental question: how and why we exist in a universe that was created out of nothing. It has always seemed to me that a universe with the very delicate balanced needed to provide exactly the conditions required to permit life must be one that has an underlying plan._[1]

But, it was not until Sheldon started on the maths that he truly began to see the significance of Sheldon's paper.

As the minutes passed and Sheldon's formulae drew Leonard into his work – opened his eyes to the exquisite workings of his friend's (if that's what they were these day) mind – he lost all awareness of the irritating crunching of Raj eating carrot sticks and Howard's uneven breathing.

All that was around him, all that was familiar slipped away. There was nothing left but the weighty words and figures on a page. He could do no more than sit in awe as Sheldon made connections that thousands of other men and women had struggled to make.

"I don't believe it," Howard said in awe. "Did the crazy bastard really do it?"

"According to Heuer from CERN, Juan Maldacena, Steven Weinberg and Edward Witten he has," Raj shrugged.

Leonard sat back in his chair, remembering suddenly all the times they had sat at this lunch table with Sheldon counting out lima beans or talking about his napkin regiment. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that Sheldon would one day make a discovery that would lend his name to the history books.

He'd known that Sheldon was brilliant – there was no denying his genius – but, was it really possible for Sheldon to be _that_ much more brilliant than the rest of them. Had Einstein's colleagues sat next to him each day thinking he was a little wacky but ultimately harmless?

Leonard, Howard and Raj exchanged looks that spoke volumes.

Before they had a chance to lend voice to any of their thoughts, Sheldon Cooper walked into the cafeteria.

There was a hushed silence as Sheldon stood with his neck blushing red. Then, with his eyes on his feet he walked over to their lunch table (craving normalcy, craving routine).

As he sat Leonard experiences a queer moment of vertigo. Was this man, the one in the suit who had just proven that string theory reconciled quantum mechanics and general relativity the same guy who had a Snoopy icy maker?

"How you doing?" he said incredulously.

"I am physically well," Sheldon said simply, focusing on his sandwich rather than the silence of the room.

"Sheldon, you're looking very _GQ_ today," Howard commented, his voice loud and clear in the silent room. "Did you just solve the mystery of the universe or something?"

There was a beat of silence, before everyone in the room burst into laughter and applause. For a moment, Leonard wondered what it would be like to experience, just once, a room full of people calling your name and applauding. But, one look at Sheldon's face and he saw that he would gladly trade places with Leonard.

He stared in front of him for a moment, still trying to count out his chips. He was clearly trying to block out the thunderous applause as the room took to its feet to mark his achievement. Without acknowledging them in any way, without even glancing at them, Sheldon continued organising his lunch.

Raj reached over the table, his hand hovering just above Sheldon's arm. "Dude, if you wave or something and say thank you, they'll stop."

Sheldon's eyes were utterly blank and confused, but seeing Raj's reassuring face, he raised his hand to the room, waved and said, "Thank you."

As Raj had predicted, the applause died down.

"Well, that was quite something, right?" Leonard said with a grin.

"We're the rock star table," Howard smirked, waving at a grad student.

"Sheldon, have you - "

But, without anyone noticing, Sheldon had slipped away from the table, leaving his seat as empty as it had been for the last few months.

* * *

><p><em><strong>20 November 2009, 8.00pm<strong>_

_**The Roof of 2311 N Los Robles Ave, Pasadena**_

Penny didn't know what drew her up these stairs – an extra flight after three already seemed excessive.

All she knew was that the day had left her feeling like she had been mugged and all she wanted was a moment of quietness before going down to the boys' apartment to watch _Star Trek_. A part of her wanted to cancel, to just lie down in her bathtub with a glass of wine. But, she knew she wouldn't. She had never cancelled on them before.

She climbed up the stairs to the rooftop, remembering how Sheldon and the boys went up there to star-gaze. Perhaps if she stood on the roof, as close as she could be to the cosmos at this moment, she would once more feel that strange connection to the universe that Sheldon had described to her.

The roof looked strange and lovely under the stars, the air cold and crisp. In daylight, it looked run-down and depressing. But, she was starting to learn that viewing the familiar in a different light changed it irrevocably. For her, there would now be too roofs. One she saw during the day, and a precious beautiful space that came out for her at night.

Someone next door must have been having a party, because the music drifted to the roof, where she saw Pasadena spread out before her – glittering like a jewellery box.

Penny drew in a sharp breath; there at the ledge, surveying the stars and the city below was Dr Whack-A-Doodle himself, still wearing his suit and staring out across the city.

"That suit really does look great on you," she said, her hands in her pockets, strolling over to him. As she stood next to him, she surveyed his profile, struck by the way the bright moonlight suited his pale skin. He had an unreadable expression on his face.

"Good evening, Penny," he said softly.

He didn't look at her. Somewhere along the way, she had learned that his inscrutable face came upon him in two contexts: when he was considering things out of the realm of the ordinary person, or when he was so overwhelmed that he had shut down. She imagined tonight it would be a combination of the two.

She could relate. It had been a wretched day. She had arrived at the audition – skipping a shift at the Cheesecake Factory – only to find that the disgusting man with a moustache fully expected her to take off her clothes for him. The worst part was for a moment she considered it; she had finally reached that jaded point when you expect as little from yourself as others expect of you.

The only thing that stopped her was the thought of _him_ – of how differently he would look at her if he ever found out. It had scared and delighted her, the impact that Sheldon Cooper had had on her psyche.

She knew that something had to change. But the idea of giving up on her dream and moving back to Nebraska was unimaginable. Unimaginable under the stars and with the city spread out under her feet.

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, wishing for a moment that he was the sort of man who would just wrap his arms around her without any prompting. But, he was blank-faced and stiff shouldered under the night sky.

She glanced at him again, knowing that in these moments, it fell to her to pull him out of his mind. If she knew Sheldon, solving a problem would do the trick.

"Sheldon," she said softly. "Do you think I'm kidding myself with my acting?"

Sheldon blinked, before turning his laser focus to her face. "What do you mean, 'kidding yourself'?"

"Do you think I should give up on trying to become an actress?"

Sheldon tilted his head to the side, as if performing a calculation. "The likelihood of you becoming one of those stars you read about in gossip magazines is very remote. Therefore, dedicating your considerable energy to it may indeed be a waste of your time."

_Gee, thanks_.

For a moment, his inadvertently harsh words made her eyes tear up. She looked away from him, wondering suddenly whether it was a good idea pursuing…whatever _this_ was…with someone as emotionally obtuse as Sheldon. She had brought it on herself, of course; he was unfailingly honest. Sure, it had been exhilarating to kiss him in his bedroom and in her kitchen, well aware that he had never been attracted to anyone before her. But, that was ego, really.

Perhaps this was a hopeless endeavour.

But, then, to her surprise, he reached out for her chin and moved her face back towards him. These small touches thrilled and shocked her, although she knew that she smelled like a fresh shower. Even when his friends were clean, it was rare for him to touch them. This strange gesture made Penny feel strangely distinguished and important, although she almost unravelled under his cool gaze.

"I have upset you," he said matter-of-factly, removing her hand. "I apologise."

"It's not just you," she said, wiping a tear away. "I just feel like…do you ever think about what it would be like to be less smart than you? I mean, to desperately want to win the Nobel Prize, but knowing that you're just not smart enough to win it? Have you ever wondered what you'd do then?"

Sheldon frowned, considering her words. "So you feel like someone who isn't smart enough to win the Nobel Prize?"

"That's the way I feel about acting. I have always wanted to work in Hollywood, but I'm starting to see that it will never happen. All I end up with are humiliating auditions and lecherous men trying to get my clothes off in between shifts at the Cheesecake Factory."

"I see."

They stood in silence for a moment. Then, Sheldon looked at her again. "It appears to me, Penny, that there are any number of ways to 'work in Hollywood' that do not involve humiliating auditions and lecherous men."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you could gain a qualification in production or directing. You could write or learn how to edit. You could become and agent or a talent scout. You could learn how to animate or become a sound engineer. You could design costumes or work on people's hair and make-up."

Penny frowned to herself. "But, I always wanted to be an actress."

"True," Sheldon shrugged. "But, it seems to me that you're not an actress _now_. You can wait for that opportunity to knock at your door, or you can begin taking steps to train yourself. That way, you will at least be working in the industry that you are interested in."

Penny realized suddenly that he was right. She had always loved her image of herself on the red carpet – proving her family wrong. But, she was not eighteen years old anymore. She had become stuck, working dead end jobs to support a dream that would in all likelihood not happen.

Of course, as always seemed to happen, on the heels of realization came self-doubt.

"But, I'm not…you know…I'm not smart like you. I mean, no one's smart like _you_, but I mean I'm not smart enough to do all those jobs you talked about."

Sheldon considered her point. "Well, we will begin by finding an institution that provides generalised film training at the appropriate level. It may be necessary to find a course that only partially takes into account your formal test scores and instead in portfolio-based."

It was the worst attempt at comforting her that she had ever come across, but she couldn't help but smile at his words. Even as he spoke, playing out a career plan with internships and finding her a job with more predictable hours so that she could pursue her studies on the side, she found herself fixating on his first statement: _We will begin by finding an institution._

He'd said _we._

Unable to stop herself, she laced her fingers through his. He immediately stopped talking and stared down at their joined hands. He seemed to be examining their hands with scientific focus. Uncertain what to make of it, he looked up to meet her eyes.

"We are going to be late for _Star Trek_."

He gently pulled his hand out of her grasp as she bit back her strange and sudden desire to dissolve into tears at the gentle rejection. Instead, she smiled unconvincingly and gestured for him to lead the way. She felt oddly bereft as she followed after him.

Only steps from the door that would lead them back down to earth, Sheldon turned around without warning, causing Penny to fall just short of colliding with him.

He looked down at his feet, up at the sky – he looked anywhere but at her. Finally, he settled for looking just passed her shoulder. He remembered, suddenly, sitting at the piano and playing for her. In his mind, strains of Liszt drowned out his instinct to run from here, to protect himself and guard himself against her intrusion. Eyes fixed over her shoulder, Sheldon mustered up his courage.

"Please be patient with me," he said simply.

She fancied that her heart might burst at the sound of his quiet voice. She had never seen him look quite this vulnerable before. So, she didn't say anything. She just nodded.

He nodded back before opening the door for her.

Their tacit agreement made, they walked side-by-side down the stairs and back to their lives: Penny filled with anticipation at the plans they would make and Sheldon hearing invisible strains of music that had been written almost two centuries ago.

* * *

><p>[1] I adapted the opening of Sheldon's paper from a few quotes from scientists regarding the design of the universe, including Arno Penzias and Tony Rothman<p>

**A/N:** **Sorry for the lengthy chapter. I didn't include any flashbacks this chapter because they're going to feature prominently in the next few chapters. Thank you so much for your reviews – they are excellent motivation to keep writing.**


	8. Chapter 8: I'd tell you I love you

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Eight: I would tell you I love you**

"_If I knew that today would be the last time I'd see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I'd embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I'd take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I'd tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already."_

- Gabriel Garcia Marquez

* * *

><p><em>19 November 2009<em>

_Dear Moonpie,_

_You can ignore me all you want; your MeeMaw doesn't give up. If I have to send you a letter every day until you return my phone call then I will do just that. You will open your mailbox and so many letters from your MeeMaw will burst out that you won't be able to help but answer one – if just to end the inconvenience. _

_I try not to let this silence hurt me. I know it is you way to be like this. You don't like the ones who love you to sit in the waiting room of life with you. You like informing us of what's happened when the thing is over and done with. _

_Today the sun didn't show itself and there was a thick fog over the garden. I remember how you'd sit and watch the mist in the garden, watching things disappear and reappear. I know you don't like things to disappear. You never gave much thought to the new things that made the garden beautiful. You just sat there eating cookies and mourning the loss of the old flowers. _

_I do wish you'd tell me what is keeping you from me. But, you know that you needn't even mention it to me. I'd just like to here your voice over the telephone or read one of those long letters of yours. _

_I hope you don't think that you can only talk to me when things are going well. I have been feeling poorly, Moonpie, and wouldn't mind just hearing your voice._

_With all my love,_

_MeeMaw_

* * *

><p><em><strong>20 November 2009, 8.30pm<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

He had transformed before her eyes.

One moment, he had been walking with her down the stairs as her ears rang with his quiet voice.

_Please be patient with me._

She had seen a glimpse tonight. She had seen a glimmer of what they might be - a glimpse of the man that he could be. There was something about the way he had stood there in his suit, surveying the city below, that made her wonder whether there might just be some hope that he could find a way to reciprocate those feelings that terrified her. Really, she had felt only a speck of hope. But, he had always told her that the entire universe had been born from a speck.

Of course, that was usually when he was talking about the shock and awe of the common cold.

For a moment, he had been something other than Dr Sheldon Cooper, PhD. He had been a man and she a woman. Her touch had pained him, but he had not run from her.

And then, they had walked down the stairs and entered the madhouse.

It was oddly jarring leaving the starlit roof to find herself in Nerd-vana. First there was Howard, performing disturbing hip gyrations to beat his highest score in Dance Dance Revolution. Raj was holding up a figurine of Spock, while scrutinising the cover of the new _Star Wars_ movie. In his other hand he was clutching two bottles: a beer and a bottle of Mountain Dew, performing the herculean feat of drinking from both simultaneously. Leonard was staring intently at his LEGO model of the Settlers of Catan board game.

"For me, foreplay starts on the dance floor," Howard wheezed, struggling to breath as he jumped about following the instructions on the screen.

"And for the rest of us," Penny said with a wrinkled nose. "The need to decontaminate starts while watching you on the dance floor."

She expected Howard to offer her a now familiar riposte – to come on to her, to say something disturbing. But, he acted as if he could scarcely see her; he stared at Sheldon, wide-eyed.

She frowned, glancing at Leonard, who had surreptitiously pushed the LEGO model over towards Raj when she had entered. For his part, Raj took a swig of beer.

She glanced at Sheldon, who was staring studiously at his feet.

"Um, does someone want to explain to me what's going on?"

There was utter silence.

She glanced again at Sheldon, trying to read his twitching face, trying to see some sign of the quiet, thoughtful man she may have left on the roof. The other boys were different, somehow; they looked at Sheldon as if he were a stranger. They examined him - the way they had previously examined her when she walked through the door.

They examined him, and he hated it.

And for a brief moment, Penny wished that she could take his hand and lead him out of the room, out of the door and into her apartment. She wished that she could make the world small and safe for him; she wished that she could guard the doors and always make him feel secure in the regularity of his routine.

Even though she, more than most, wanted to take his routine and tear it into small pieces, she still wanted to protect him from everyone else.

She found herself stepping forward, as if to force their eyes onto her so that they would stop scrutinising Sheldon. "Does someone want to explain to me why you're all acting weird?" She paused. "I mean...weirder than usual."

"Sorry, Penny," Raj said. "It's just not every day that one of your friends makes the biggest scientific breakthrough of the last century."

She turned to look at Sheldon, who was as still as a baby deer. He was staring at Raj as if trying very hard to make sense of him. For a moment, he split in two before her gaze and he was at once the Sheldon that stood in this room and the broken, exhausted shell that had collapsed at the front door of Apartment 4A weeks ago - too tired to turn the key.

"Sheldon," she said softly. "Is this true?"

He looked at her, eyes wide and blank. But, when his eyes met hers the strangest thing happened; they softened before her eyes. She had never understood the phrase "_his eyes softened_" until this very moment. With a look of complete vulnerability he nodded once.

"But," she breathed, eyes darting across his face as she tried to see all of him at once. "What does it mean?"

She had almost forgotten that there were other people in the room when Howard piped up. "It means fame, fortune, fan-girls. The usual."

"Well I don't know about fan-girls," Leonard said, with only a trace of jealousy. "But it _is_ a big deal."

"We should have a 'Sheldon proved string theory' party," Raj mused.

"And the ladies could all wear g-str - "

"Wait," Penny frowned, interrupting Howard before he could turn her stomach. "I thought string theory was already proven."

This seemed to break Sheldon's reverie. "That's preposterous. It is called string _theory_. The entire purpose of my Arctic research was to _prove_ string theory."

Despite his patronising tone, Penny couldn't help but feel a swell of triumph at the fact that she seemed to have broken the spell that had left him frozen and exposed in the centre of the room. "But I thought you went to the Arctic to find mononucleo-poles?"

"_Monopoles_," Sheldon said, shaking his head at her ignorance. "I was looking for magnetic _monopoles_."

"Oh, right," she said, starting to enjoy herself. "Then what are mononucleo-poles?"

Sheldon crossed his arms, as she stared up at him, affecting polite interest at his words. "I presume that they are some kind of hazing ritual at Nebraskan hoe-downs, involving the transmission of mononucleosis."

Sheldon and Penny were almost toe-to-toe at this point, each secretly enjoying their familiar banter. Raj and Howard exchanged knowing glances, which irked Leonard who felt rather foolish sitting on the floor.

"Maybe we should start the movie," Leonard said pointedly, gesturing to _Star Trek_.

Penny and Sheldon tore their eyes away from each other and sat together on the couch without speaking.

As they slipped easily into the fantastical world of the _Star Trek_ universe, she found the momentary levity of their familiar banter dissipate. It was always enjoyable to rile him up, but now that they were sitting in the darkened room, she found herself longing for some sort of visible change in their interaction – some way to be certain that this strange shift in their atmosphere was not going to disappear without warning.

She would have liked to prop herself up against him, to entwine their arms – to give some indication to the other boys in the room that he belonged to her.

Of course, she knew that Sheldon would probably scamper off to his room if she tried.

He sat there in the same suit he had worn while her stomach had been twisting in anticipation on the roof - when asking her to be patient with him. Yet now there was a dull and lifeless tension between them, as if they were not the same species, as if the insurmountable distance between them was something to accept rather than rail against.

He had asked for her patience, and yet every fibre of her body demanded that she pull him as close as possible to her – close enough the meld into a single being, closer than the closest she had ever held anybody before.

She could be patient. At least, she could try to be patient. But, she needed some sign that progress would be made. She needed proof that her faith was not misguided. Especially now that she had at least the merest sense of the mayhem that would soon be unleashed in Sheldon's career.

She was just starting to wonder whether she could make an excuse and hurry back to the sanctuary of her apartment, when she felt the very last thing she had expected.

Without any warning, without any prompting, Penny felt Sheldon's pinkie fingers brush against her own.

She didn't dare look at him, breathless and wondering whether it had been an accident. But, a few seconds later, she felt his finger once more brushing against hers, until their fingers were entwined.

She glanced at his profile, but he did not spare her a single glance.

Both of them stared straight ahead at the screen, while feeling convinced that the universe was being born from the tiny point of contact between their fingers.

* * *

><p><em><strong>23 July 1985, 10.30am<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

He doesn't look up as MeeMaw enters and kisses him on the head. He merely closes his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that he needn't panic at the contact; it is MeeMaw. Meemaw. The one who looks after him, protects him and cooks for him when his father falls into that dead-eyed cruelty of his.

But she isn't here to see Sheldon. She is here to see his mother. She leaves him with his numbers and figures, tinkering away at the universe.

His mother is sitting at the kitchen table, wound tight as a spring. She is all sharp angles sitting in the dark.

She had been sitting there since they left Dr Axlerod's office, with its pictures of synapses bursting into light. He had enjoyed it in that office, doing puzzles and taking tests.

She had spoken to Dr Axlerod alone in the office while he sat in the waiting room completing a thousand piece puzzle. She had let the door of the office slam behind her as she left. She had taken his hand roughly, dragged him away with only three pieces to go.

"I don't _care_ if you had three pieces to go, Shelly – I am your mother and you will _mind_ me."

The car ride home had been silent. Sheldon had traced constellations on his thigh while his mother stared straight ahead, worrying her lips with her teeth. They were almost home when he broke the silence.

"Was Dr Axlerod able to determine whether I'm crazy?"

He spoke calmly, more closely resembling an elderly professor than a child not really that long out of the crib. Mary glanced at him, eyes suddenly fierce, but lips pursed and straight.

"You. Are. _Not._ Crazy."

Satisfied, he had settled back in his seat, wondering about the thin line between genius and insanity, mentally mapping his own brain, itching to escape to the attic with pens and paper.

But, when his mother had walked straight into the kitchen and poured herself the first alcoholic drink he could ever recall her drinking, he found himself unwilling to stray too far from her. For a child not inclined towards physical affection, he found himself suddenly longing to bury his face in her skirt, to smell her reassuring mother scent.

He didn't know what had shaken her so deeply, so profoundly. But he knew, with the strange intuition of a gifted child, that it had something to do with him.

He knows it now, hours later. He knows it because of the tremor in his mother's hand and the way she stares at the drab patterns on the wall.

MeeMaw walks passed him without a word, seeking out her daughter at the kitchen table.

He cannot make out the first few sentences of their exchange; he tries to resist his base urge to eavesdrop until he hears his name. Unable to resist afterall, he presses himself against the wall and listens at the door of the kitchen.

"It's not like we didn't know that Moonpie was special," MeeMaw sits opposite his mother, squeezing her hands that are steepled around a drink on the table. "If he needs a little extra help through life then that's not anything that a loving family can't provide him."

"No," his mother says flatly.

"Well, now," her voice is imperious as her eyes narrow. "Don't you tell me that my daughter doesn't have love enough in her heart for a little boy with mental problems."

"No."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

When his mother's eyes meet MeeMaw's, they are glittering with unshed tears. For a moment he wonders what Dr Axlerod has said to her that is so terrible. He wonders whether he would be better off in the far-off attic, leaving these bewildering people he calls family to their own devices. His brother and sister will be home soon. He should hide while he still can.

But even he has lingering questions about those long tests he took in Dr Axlerod's office, the tests he finished in minutes. The tests that made the doctor look at him with that same appraising, fearful look that his teachers sometimes gave him. Even at his young age, he could sense that he was different. And in this town, at his school, _different_ was never a good thing.

"Shelly isn't crazy. He isn't mentally challenged. He's not real gifted with people, he isn't good at the social side of things, but it isn't because his brain doesn't work. His brain isn't the…" Mary's eyes snapped into focus. "He's a genius. Dr Axlerod, he said that there wasn't anything he could do about Shelly's problems. Because he's never seen anyone as smart as Shelly is. Ever."

"I don't understand? Our Moonpie is a genius?"

He sees his face reflected in the mirror in the hallway. He was sent to Dr Axlerod to find out what was wrong with him and the answer was that he is a genius. Sheldon finds himself frowning, siphoning through all he knows about genius. The voices of great men and women whisper to him through time and space. Telling him of the fate of a genius, disdaining the paths of all those who came before. He recalls Aristotle and the fact that genius is always mixed with madness. He wonders whether he is mad.

His mother is speaking and for a moment, Sheldon feels a small, ungenerous thrill of disdain towards her pedestrian words. She speaks of numbers as if that could ever be a true measure of achievement. For a moment, he wishes that he could have spoken to one of those ancient voices he reads about in books; he wishes that that his dull, dogged little mother were capable of explaining to him the greater meaning behind her words. He wishes – just for an instant – that he had been born into more.

But, then, the moment passes and he recalls his own white knuckles clutching onto her skirt and begging her not to leave him in the mayhem of childcare. He recalls the withering glances she threw at the mean children who whisper about him.

It is clear to him suddenly that loyalty and fierceness are sometimes more valuable assets than brains.

"He will never be normal. He will never be the same as the other kids in his class. Even if he skips a grade. He's different. Different to all of us."

He steals a look into the room, seeing his MeeMaw and mother sitting at the table wearing faces so contradictory that they might be the mask of Janus. His mother slumps and runs her fingers around her glass, her melancholy only underlined by the look of proud excitement on his MeeMaw's face.

"Well I'll be damned. A boy genius in our very own family."

Mary doesn't respond, taking a long sip.

"Well I don't understand what you're doing here sitting at the table as if you just found out the very date you'll take your last breath," MeeMaw says, her face finally registering Mary's expression. "Finding out you have a gifted son is hardly a burden. Most parents would think this is a good thing."

"No, that's not right." At last the tears come. "A parent wants their child to be bright, sure. But they also want their children to be able to _feel_ things, to connect with people, to show kindness. To be _connected_ to things. What parent wants their child to be different from other people, to be alone, to be too smart to see what's right in front of them?"

"Well my darling, the child you've been blessed with is different. And that difference is something that should be cherished."

Mary stands up, pressing her hands against the counter and taking deep breaths. After collecting herself, she turns back to her mother.

"Don't you think I know that I should jumping up and down right now? I know that this is meant to be good news. God has given Shelly a gift. One that I don't understand, but a gift anyway."

"Well, then. Let's not talk about how you should be feeling. Let's talk about how you _do _feel."

"I feel lost. And trapped. I went to that doctor because I thought he might be able to explain to me why I don't understand a thing about my son. I thought he could tell me why my son doesn't make friends. I thought he'd give me a diagnosis and a plan. But, instead I find out that there's nothing I can do. I can't protect him from this. He's always going to be alone."

The silence in the kitchen stretches passed awkward to become a contemplative sort of state. Sheldon stands blinking in the hallway, not quite understanding why his mother sounds so devastated by the concept of his being alone. He has always been alone.

"He won't be alone, Ginger Snap. Not on my watch – and not on yours. I don't care if I don't understand a single word that comes out of his mouth. Our job is to love him enough to make up for every person who doesn't understand him. Can you do that for me?"

He looks away from the scene. He looks away from the mirror. He walks away before he can even hear his mother's answer. He knew, the moment MeeMaw had said it, that the people in this very house would not understand him. He knew that his silly sister, his jealous brother and his disillusioned, cruel father never would.

He knew without listening that his mother would continue to defend him, would march into offices by his side, would scare off the mean girls and meaner boys.

Maybe she would even surrender to the recommendations by his teachers that there was simply nothing left to teach him.

But, she would never quite know what to make of him. They would never enjoy the quiet intimacy that she and Missy enjoyed. She would look at him with that sad expression of hers that he knew so well, as if she were asking God for the patience to contend with him.

And his MeeMaw would supply the rest.

But, none of them could tell him what he needed to know at this moment; none of them could tell him what this diagnosis would mean for him, no one could explain to him the curve he would be graded against from now on.

He sits in His Spot in the Attic, completely still, thinking thoughts of legacy. Thinking the thoughts of an old man.

* * *

><p><em><strong>22 November 2009, 3.59pm<strong>_

_**The Comic Center**_

Something was off and they both knew it. Only Howard would never admit to noticing and would certainly never admit to caring. For his part, Raj knew precisely what was off, but couldn't find the words to explain it to Howard. Nor did he feel like he should have to explain it.

Howard smiled at him as when their eyes met awkwardly over the stack of comic books.

Both of them looked away, disgusted at how false and strained the entire day had been.

"This is getting ridiculous," Raj muttered to himself.

Howard never let on that he had heard, but he secretly agreed.

"I'll tell you what's ridiculous," he said in a low, suggestive voice. "Last night I went to this college party."

"Please tell me it was a university party and not another one of those Jewish private girl's school parties."

"That was an honest mistake," Howard hissed in an undertone. "And I thought we agreed never to speak of that again."

"Whatever, dude," Raj shrugged, leafing through an issue of _Superman_.

"Anyway, I was at this college party and I managed to convince these girls that I invented Facebook. Let's just say, last night brought new meaning to the 'poke' button."

At the sight of Raj's stony face, Howard sighed. For a moment, he forgot to be lecherous, forgot to be macho.

For a moment, he was just a boy who missed his best friend.

"Listen," he said. "I want to make things right between all of us. I mean it. I'm just not sure how to make things go back to normal."

It was these moments that Raj remembered why he was friends with Howard, whose silly haircut was gleaming under the electric lights. He looked so earnest and sincere that Raj felt his heart tighten slightly.

But, then he remembered the vast gulf that had formed in their little group without any of them seeming to notice. He remembered all the things he didn't have the nerve to say.

He could have said something, then and there. He could have told Howard that sometimes it is impossible to go back: that forward was the only option.

But instead, he decided to lie.

"We're good, dude. We're _all_ good."

* * *

><p><em><strong>22 November 2009, 8.15pm<strong>_

_**2311 N Los Robles Ave, Pasadena**_

If he was absolutely still – so still he ceased to breathe, so still that fancied he could slow his heartbeat.

He had been walking down the stairs of his apartment, until suddenly he had been overwhelmed by the need to stand absolutely still. One moment he was methodically counting each step, his laundry basket in hand, and then the next he was standing on the landing, eyes closed, breathing slowly.

It was chilly in the stairwell, but he couldn't think of that. He was nowhere, he was everywhere. He had found the answer; he had lost the question.

"Sheldon," she said softly, awaking him from his reverie. A part of her wished that he was waiting here for her. But, she knew that he was different from Leonard or those guys who would contrive meetings to impress her. If Sheldon was lost in thought, it must be a thought more complex and labyrinthine than she had ever come across.

(Not for the first time, she wondered whether she was truly up to the task of…whatever it was they were thinking of doing.)

"Penny." He'd meant to ask it as a question, but it had come out more of a statement. Actually, it had come out as an exhalation. "What are you doing here?"

"Me?" she said uncertainly, adjusting her laundry on her hip. "I'm not the one daydreaming on the stairs. Where did you go?"

"I'm right here," he said, looking down at his long limbs as if to make sure that was still the case.

"No, I mean, what were you thinking about?"

Sheldon looked down at his laundry uncomprehendingly. Then, he looked at her so that she could read some kind of response in his face. The truth was he scarcely knew what he was thinking about. His thoughts were too large for even his incredible mind to make sense of.

He looked as if he longed to tell her something, but years of perfect restraint had left him unpractised in the art of 'sharing'. Certainly, even after her Googling last night, she could scarcely begin to understand the implications of his big discovery.

One thing she did know, though, was what floundering looked like, and she could tell that if she didn't pay close attention, he might just disappear under the surface.

"Penny," he said simply, as if that was a sufficient response to her question. She wondered, for an instant, whether he was, in fact, answering her question. The thought sent a jolt of excitement through her stomach. But, after a few seconds, the excitement faded, and she realized that he was still standing on the landing, his eyes unfocused in the electric light. And this on Laundry Night, when there was a strict schedule to follow.

Ah, Laundry Night.

What had started as a coincidence had solidified into ritual. Apart from the interruption from Sheldon throwing himself headlong into his work, they had passed at least part of their Saturdays together since she had made her acquaintance with him.

He was 6 feet 3 of crazy back then. Even more so than he was now. Even then he had been as cold and remote as a glacier.

But now, she had known what it was to be pressed against that body of his. Now she knew what it was to be seen – to be truly _seen_ – by those brilliant blue eyes. She couldn't walk with him without fixating on his hands, on his long fingers. She remembered how he had played for her that night at the Cheesecake Factory.

She shivered as they stood facing each other in silence. The memory of a memory of a dream made her skin come out in goose bumps.

_They were kissing as the world came to pieces around them. _

"My mind was wandering," he said, cutting his eyes away from hers. "But I should not delay laundry night. My schedule is already unmanageable with these pointless tête-à-têtes with the Dean."

Penny made a note to look up the meaning of _tête-à-têtes_. She smiled warming at him, trying to hide her worry from his discerning eyes, gesturing at the basket of laundry she had placed at her feet. "Well then, do you want to get on with it? Sheldon?"

But he was staring at her. And for as long as she had fallen in lust with boys she had never seen a look quite like it. It was not lustful and she didn't feel like she had stolen it. If she hadn't known better, she would assume that he was faking this wide-eyed innocence. But, this was _Sheldon_. He really was that innocent.

(Although, the memory of his hands on her legs made her grin wickedly to herself).

No. The look on his face made her feel like a stable point in the universe and she found herself loath to meet it – and incapable of looking away. Searching about in her mind, she wondered what she could ask to distract him. Her day had not been fruitful; she had read the pamphlets and course guides he had already printed out for her. She had thought about the seemingly insurmountable challenges ahead of her, she had imagined ripping out the pages that had come before and starting with a blank white piece of paper.

He was still staring at her, seemingly without blinking. That was one of the many strange things about Sheldon; he had no sense of social niceties. He had not the slightest clue that she might be uncomfortable. And he was leaving her strangely breathless.

She met his eyes, finally – straight on, without looking away – and felt her heart speed up uncomfortably.

"What does it feel like, Sheldon?" she spoke, without even realizing what she was going to say.

"I'm afraid that discerning emotions is not my strong suit," he said, his head cocked to the side quizzically. "You're going to have to be more specific."

She shrugged. "What does it feel like to have achieved your big dream?"

Finally, he looked away. In fact, he looked at the wall to his left, staring at its flat, drab surface. For a long time he stared at that wall, his washing basket in his hands. She hadn't meant to throw him. She had just spent the day folding up her dream of being a famous actress and shoving it into a box to store under her bed. Since she had heard the news of his breakthrough, she had wondered why he wasn't more ecstatic, she had wondered what it was like to actually _get there_.

He didn't look ecstatic. He looked exhausted. Without looking at her, he closed his eyes.

"My 'big dream' was to tear the mask off nature and see the face of God. My dream was to learn the secrets of the universe and hear its song. I wanted my name to be in the history books – and then I wanted to win the Nobel Prize."

"And, isn't that what's happening?" she said uncertainly. "Isn't your discovery huge and ground-breaking and game-changing?"

"Yes," he said softly.

"And does it feel amazing?"

He furrowed his brow, before turning back to her. No longer were his eyes innocent. They were sad and lost and everything she didn't associate with him. But, she knew on some level that it was these emotions that were driving him to take those maddeningly tiny steps towards her.

"It doesn't feel like anything at all."

What could she possibly say to that? He looked at her, resigned the fact that there was nothing she could say and her heart broke for him.

There was nothing that she could say. So, she reached out and took his washing basket out of his hands and placed it on the floor at his feet. Then, without uttering a single word, without him moving or reacting in any way, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her face on his chest.

For a while she just hugged him, clutching him tightly, not minding that he was frozen and stiff.

She heard him sigh - as if giving into her – before he wrapped his arms around her.

"It doesn't feel like _this_," he whispered over her head, before dropping his arms and extricating himself from her grip.

Without waiting for her to pick up her basket, he hurried down the stairs and out of sight.

She shivered and pressed her hand to her lips, trying to make sense of what he had said being scared and elated all at once.

_It doesn't feel like _this.

Then, she picked up her basket and carried it down the stairs.

* * *

><p><em>THE NEW YORK TIMES, Science, 2311/09_[1]

_Signalling a likely end to one of the longest, most expensive searches in the history of science, representatives from CalTech, California, announced that Dr Sheldon Cooper's groundbreaking findings on string theory could hold the key to understanding life in the universe. _

_Like Omar Sharif materialising out of the shimmering desert as a man on a camel in "Lawrence of Arabia", the elusive proof for string theory has been coming slowly into view for 30 years. _

_The string theory story begins in the early 20__th__ century, when Albert Einstein drastically changed our notions about space and time. By the 1970s, a clear division of labor existed in our understanding of physics. General relativity described large objects such as solar systems, galaxies and the universe. Quantum mechanics, as elaborated in the standard model, described small objects such as atoms, molecules and subatomic particles. The question outstanding for the scientific community has been how to unify these two concepts. String theory has long been touted as the best hope for a unified "theory of everything"._

_For years, string theory proponents have argued that an elementary particle is not a point but a loop of vibrating string. Just like a violin or piano string, one of these "fundamental strings" has different harmonics or forms of vibration._[2]

_It is only now, with the assistance of CERN, the multinational research centre headquartered in Geneva, that we are capable of creating the conditions that existed at the very inception of our universe. _

"_I think we have the proof that string theory exists," said Rolf Diester Heuer, the director general of CERN. _

_Dr Cooper's findings and formula have been tested by two teams at CERN, as well as some of the world's leading mathematical and scientific minds. While his scientific brethren tout his accomplishment, Dr Cooper himself has not been available for comment…. _

Leonard looked up at Sheldon, who was sitting at the counter staring at his oatmeal, lost in thought.

"It's pretty cool, huh?" Leonard said, waving slightly in front of Sheldon's face to wake him from his reverie.

Sheldon seemed startled, even though Leonard had been reading aloud for a few minutes. "No Leonard, it is not 'cool' to hear my name in association with an article written by a journalist whose skills would more appropriately be applied writing copy for used automobile salesmen."

It was so _wasted _on him.

That was the only thought that crossed Leonard's mind as his flatmate sat there unmoved at the sound of his name being read from an article in the _New York Times._

Just once, Leonard would have liked to see a moment of human honesty from the aloof man who he sometimes called his best friend. It wasn't natural to be this way. It wasn't natural to be this remote from other people. It was like living in Leonard's mother's house.

_(It should have been me.)_

How many things in Leonard's life would have been solved if it had been he who had made Sheldon's discovery. He would have done this properly. Not sit there grimly with one eye on a letter from his grandmother, eating Hi-Fibre cereal.

It was unnatural. Leonard frowned to himself. Actually, even by Sheldon's standards, it _was_ unnatural.

For the first time, it occurred to Leonard that just because he was eating and sleeping again didn't necessarily mean that Sheldon Cooper had clawed his way out from the mental place that had led to his hospitalisation.

(_I really don't deserve this at all._)

Leonard leaned his elbows on the countertop, wincing at his own cruel thoughts. He regarded Sheldon, looking all of twelve years old in his Flash t-shirt.

"Are you okay?"

Sheldon swallowed his cereal, before carefully setting the spoon down in the bowl.

"I have made the most important discovery of my career, the most important discovery of my life. How could I not be 'okay'?"

Leonard nodded. It wasn't until he left the apartment that it occurred to him that Sheldon hadn't answered the question. Not really.

* * *

><p><em><strong>23 November 2009, 10.00am<strong>_

_**Caltech**_

"I want to thank you for seeing like this," Rolf-Dieter Heuer said, sitting on the other side of Sheldon's desk – at Raj's desk, actually, although Rolf wasn't to know that.

"It is no trouble," he responded, his German coming back to him effortlessly. "Although to be honest, I don't know why we couldn't talk about my speaking schedule with President Siebert."

Rolf gestured dismissively, flicking his hair over his forehead. His shirt was open, his suit immaculately tailored, but somehow not pedantic. If Sheldon had been the sort of person to notice sartorial excellence, he might have commented that Rolf was an exceedingly finely dressed man. But, as it was, he merely fixated upon the man's grey beard, wondering what would possess anyone to allow something so unsanitary to grow right there on the bottom half of his face.

"I was not being entirely honest about my reasons for coming here. I wanted you to see me so that I could speak to you in private about a sensitive matter."

"Oh? What sensitive matter?"

Rolf laughed, a belly laugh, a certain laugh – the laugh of a man who knew his place in the world. "I shouldn't say something like that to a man whose work is currently being dissected by the most brilliant minds in the world. It's nothing…unpleasant. In fact, I am hoping you will think that it is a good thing that I want to speak to you about tonight."

"I'm listening," Sheldon said, as guarded and non-committal as ever.

"He was not joking the other day, President Siebert. When he mentioned that CERN would try to lure you away from Caltech. He saw through my visit here."

"Are you offering me a job?"

"Not one to beat around bush, Dr Cooper," Rolf grinned. "I am that way also."

"But…I _have_ a job."

"I know that. I want to offer you a better job. More resources, more respect. More money."

"But I don't need more money. I already have surplus money. It's guarded by snakes."

Unbidden, the thought of Penny entered his head. He remembered suddenly the day he had loaned her money and how strangely she had acted around him. She had snapped at him. She had been uncomfortable sitting by him on the sofa. She acted this way until the very moment she could pay him back.

He had been confused by her actions. He had felt oddly bereft to find her finding excuses to push him out of her life.

She had remarked, later that she had never felt as small as when she took the money from his peanut brittle jar. She felt like her brother, she said. And he didn't quite know what she had meant. But, he had a sense that her behaviour had something to do with her sense of pride.

Perhaps if he had more money, she would be more comfortable with taking a portion of it to assist her meeting her expenses. But, he suspected that an increase in his wealth would not be matched by a decrease in her pride.

So, he could see no particular benefit in earning more money.

"You must be the only man in America who believes that he doesn't need more money," Rolf said, leaning forward in his chair. "But it is not just the money, Dr Cooper. I think you know what CERN is, what it represents in your field. I am offering you the opportunity not just to be part of that, but to be a leader."

Sheldon merely sat at his desk, back as straight as a ram rod. Rolf considered the tall, strange man who sat opposite him before leaning back in his chair.

"I have spoken to most of the Faculty about you, Dr Cooper. I have spoken to your colleagues. And every one of them say one of two things: 'he's brilliant' or 'he's crazy.'"

Sheldon fought back the urge to inform Rolf about the tests that proved his sanity. But, recently even he hadn't been convinced that they were authoritative on this matter. Nor did he tell the great man of science who wanted to lure him to Switzerland that even now hearing others call him crazy made the choir of cruel children's voices echo through his mind like it was a church hall.

"I do not agree with them. You are a man with eccentricities, like all the most brilliant men. I do not like to see someone of your genius belittled by inferior minds. It is a dangerous time for you, Dr Cooper. It is the time when the snakes that have waited in the long grass will strike out at you.

"It is the time when people will flatter you and undermine you and do whatever it takes to put somewhere where you won't bother people so you can be rolled out at parties and fundraisers. You know what is coming. You must have sensed it."

He _had _sensed it. It had been in the eyes of every old man who had shaken his hand since the beginning. He was their little freak show and he had terrified and thrilled them for entire life.

"I can see from your face that you know what I am saying is true. But, what is more dangerous than this is that you might think that your life's work ended with this formula. But, I know better. For someone like you, there is an overpowering necessity to create, create, create – and without anything to create, your very breath is cut off from you.

"You must keep creating, keep inventing, keep questing. Because that inward urgency to discover the answer does not stop merely because people pat you on the back and say you've done a good thing. Now is the time to work harder, even harder than you were before."[3]

During the course of Rolf's speech, Sheldon had found himself squeezing his hands until his knuckles turned white. Rolf's words were convincing. Three months ago, he would have put his own out to hear the words that were coming out of this clever old man's mouth.

But now, for the first time, Sheldon found himself wondering whether he might never feel that thrill of truly being alive again. For years, he had never felt truly alive until he was standing at his whiteboard. It was his own personal quest.

He found himself at the conclusion of this journey. And he realized that he was utterly lost.

"What would you have me do?" Sheldon asked quietly.

"I would have you reach your potential," Rolf said seriously. "You've learned one secret of the universe. But, there are many secrets in the vast vacuum of space. Now is the time to bend it to your will."

"You want me to leave everything behind?"

Rolf cocked his head to the side, considering Sheldon's expression. "I want you to take a path that leads to greatness. And that path is a lonely one. Even I will not be able to follow you there."

The thought of being alone had never scared him before. He had always thought that only the average feared solitude. But, the picture that Rolf was painting for him seemed oddly bleak.

"Take this journey with me, Dr Cooper," Rolf said, his eyes shining and convincing in the light of his office. Then, the man paused, as if considering Sheldon for the first time. "Unless there's something keeping you here?"

For the life of him, Sheldon didn't know what to say to that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>3 March 1998, 11.58pm<strong>_

_**Bellevue, Nebraska**_

She wakes up when she hears her daddy shouting.

He is outside her window, she peeks out through the pink curtains to see him running at his own truck, shouting that her brother had better not think he is leaving the farm in this state.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you can do about it?"

When she hears her brother shout, she ducks down – as if scared that he might see her, as if scared that his hateful voice might shout horrible things at her.

The sound of a car door slamming makes her steal a peek. Her father drags her brother out of the front seat, his face twisted, angry- terrifying.

"Get your fucking hands off me."

Her father lets him drop down to the dust at his feet. It must have taken a feat of strength to drag all six foot two of Jimmy out of the car, but now Penny can see that her brother can scarcely stand.

Her father doesn't look angry anymore. She can see every line on his face under the moonlight. He looks old and exhausted.

"Clean yourself up," he says, almost sadly. "Get back into the house."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Jimmy spits, his blonde hair almost white as he pulls himself to his feel, using the back of the truck for balance. "Who are _you_ to judge _me_?"

Her father doesn't answer, just turns back to the house and walks towards the rectangle of light that Penny can see on the ground from her window.

"Don't walk away from me," Jimmy shouts after him. "Let's have it out, old man. You and me. You and me."

Her father glances over his shoulder, shaking his head. "I can't even look at you right now."

It is Jimmy's face that Penny watches from her window as her father walks the lonely steps to the house. She hears the screen door hit its frame and knows that her mother is out there, watching her family coming apart at the seams. Watching her own life unfold…disappointingly.

Jimmy lets out a noise that is more snarl than shout, pulling a shovel from the back of the truck and running at his father.

Penny tries to scream out to her father but her throat won't make a noise. It doesn't matter; her mother is screaming enough for the both of them.

Her father turns around, facing Jimmy as he runs at him. No expression. No fear. And before his eyes, Jimmy slows down to a stagger before stopping entirely.

They lock eyes and Penny wonders at the violence of it all. With one swing, her brother could probably kill her father. She wonders how the wide night sky can contain such violence.

"You gonna hit me with that, Jimbo?"

Jimmy seems to consider the question, weighing up his options. Something doesn't make sense to him.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?"

Her father sighs heavily. "Because I'm too afraid _for_ you."

Jimmy lets the shovel hit the ground, where only minutes ago he himself had been writhing. He looks down, looks up at the house and up at the sky. Then, his eyes settle directly on Penny's window. He shakes his head, pressing his fingers against his temples as if trying to force his way into his own brain.

"You know what, dad?" he says, laughing without a trace of humour. "I'm afraid for me too."

She runs back to her bed and dives under the covers. The image of her father standing there without moving as his son runs at him wielding a shovel is burned onto the surface of her brain.

She will puzzle over it until morning, and then fall into a deep sleep.

The lesson she will learn only years later: love is not glamorous. Love is an exercise of blind, foolish faith.

* * *

><p><em><strong>23 November 2009, 9.38pm<strong>_

_**Outside Apartment 4B**_

He stood at her door without knocking.

He couldn't knock; he had come empty-handed. He hadn't thought to buy anything from the market. All he'd been able to think about was coming to her door.

He had been shaken and off-kilter all day. He had left the office after his conversation with Rolf. He had come straight home and methodically read the scientific journals that had arrived in the post. Published before his discovery was public knowledge, none of them mentioned him. For that, he was grateful.

He was reading about supernovas and thinking about time, trying to drown out that probing question of Rolf's: did he have some reason to stay in Pasedena? Not wanting to answer that question - not sure even how to begin – he tried to lose himself in the _Journal of the Physical Universe_.

A group of scientists in Spain had observed that stars exploding on the fringes of the universe seemed to be moving faster than those exploding nearer the centre, indicating that they were accelerating as they shot through space. They had theorised that the appearance of acceleration was caused by time itself gradually slowing down, like a wound-up clock or a spool of yarn unwinding and coming to a halt under the paw of a cat.

_Things will seem to get faster and faster until time finally disappears. Then everything will be frozen, like a snapshot of one instant, forever._[4]

He read the last sentence twice before standing up and hurrying to her door.

But, now that he had arrived the idea of simply knocking and demanding entry seemed inconceivable. This is what happened when you abandoned a schedule – you became sloppy and impulsive. People abandoned social convention and the world became a very confusing, very unpredictable place.

Basically, the world became more like Penny.

_Everything will be frozen, like a snapshot of one instant, forever._

In spite of himself, he started knocking on her door.

She opened after he finished knocking three times, even though he could see the shadows of her feet at the threshold of the door. He found suddenly – quite unpredictably – that he had no idea what to say.

He was no good at discerning moods, but he could tell that she wasn't angry. She merely opened the door wide enough for him to walk through and allowed him to enter her house. He saw that there were three t-shirts, two odd socks, as well as (and he blushed pink at the sight of it) a lacy bra dangling over the back of her sofa. A bottle of wine was open on the counter, next to a few candles that she always seemed to light after a hard day.

He turned around to face her, suddenly aware of his big hands, his long limbs – but _more_ aware still of her flawless skin underneath her skimpy singlet top and her blonde hair.

Something in her expression shifted as she examined him. He didn't like that – the way she always seemed to understand better than him what had driven him recently to do these strange and out-of-character things.

She prowled passed him, back to her glass of wine, sipping it and watching him standing silently in the middle of her living room. Unconsciously, she ran her hands over the papers that she was reading through – the papers that he had so painstakingly printed and collated. She flipped through them with one hand, while he stood before her. And then, she flipped through them again, creating a small breeze from the pages.

"You seem very agitated, Penny. Are you quite well?"

_You're driving me insane_, she thought but she did not say.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling weakly. "It's just strange…planning a life that doesn't look the way I thought it was going to."

He cocked his head to the side, examining her in that way of his that she loved and hated. "Life isn't an aesthetic experience. It isn't _supposed_ to look one way or another. It's sensation and consciousness. That is all."

He looked at her with those wide eyes of his and she found herself oddly breathless in the dim candlelight.

It occurred to her suddenly, but with such force that it stopped her dead. It is those eyes of his, those brilliant, innocent eyes that could understand the deepest mysteries of the universe, but which could miss a pretty girl throwing herself at him.

She realized, with a disconcerting jolt, that she didn't ever want to toy with him. She didn't want to play games. She wouldn't want to challenge him to a game that he could not possibly hope to win. It didn't seem…honourable…to do that to Sheldon. Because his eyes were _don't-hurt-me_ wide and he himself – standing there with his sharp angles and lost expression - was within a hair's breadth of losing it completely. All of it made her heart hurt.

"What are you doing here?" she almost whispered.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I was reading. Then, I was thinking about time freezing - " he peered at her through his eyelashes " – and then I wanted to be with you."

_Just in case._

Without conscious thought, she reached out with both hands and touched him on both sides of the head, her fingers pressed to his temples. He closed his eyes, experiencing that same agony and ecstasy that she had become familiar with since she started taking liberties by touching him.

"What's happening in that giant brain of yours?"

He closed his eyes and looked slightly pained under her touch. "I don't know," he said, his voice more sad and lost than she had ever heard it before.

"What can I do to help?" she whispered.

He opened his eyes, examining her closely. "I don't know."

It was hardly encouraging, but Penny realized suddenly that his voice wasn't sad anymore. As he looked at her, she found her hands slipping down his face, until her hands framed his cheeks. Without thinking, she ran her hands over his cheeks, letting her fingers sink into his hair. She moved her body closer, watching his eyes widen and then narrow – as if there were two sides of his nature battling for dominance.

"Tell me what you want, Sheldon," she whispered, her body almost pressed against his.

But he was still shaking his head in that bewildered way of his. Even though she knew it was impossible for him, she _needed_ him to say the words; she needed to know that it wasn't just her. She needed progress. She ran one of her hands down his chest.

"Say it," she whispered, falling just short of kissing him.

Sheldon captured her hand in his, stopping its progress, but holding it tightly at the same time. "I should like very much to kiss you," he said, as oddly formal as ever. "But I do not know what the etiquette is."

"There's no etiquette. There's no guide. There's just you and me. And right now."

"Alright," he said.

Then, with more concentration and more deliberation than she had ever seen from him, he leant down and kissed her – and for a moment she thought that she might cry. Because, when he wrapped his hands around her, there was no subtle cringe in his embrace.

For a moment, she understood what he had been talking about; she understood that he honestly worried that time might stop. And if it stopped, he wanted to be with her. She felt so unworthy of his extraordinary actions. She felt so unworthy of him.

"Sheldon," she said, pulling back to look at his face, his swollen lips aching for more contact. "I hope you know that I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

"You are not forcing me," he said softly. "I find myself oddly compelled to kiss you. I've never experience it before – this sensation, this consciousness. I'm forced to conclude that _this_ is life."

He shouldn't _say _things like that, she found herself thinking idly as her arms tightened around his neck and she pressed her body against his. She only just reached his shoulder, feeling oddly small and vulnerable in his arms. To her surprise, she felt his hands creeping up to her shoulder, before freezing.

"Touch me," she breathed. "I want you to."

With hands shaking slightly, he ran his fingers under the spaghetti strap of her top, letting it fall over her shoulder. Remembering, suddenly, the sight of him shirtless, she ran her hands under his t-shirt, smirking to herself as he shivered under her touch.

"Penny," he breathed. "Penny."

Uncertainly, he ghosted his hands over arms until he reached her waist. Moving slowly, as if expecting at any moment for her to pull away, he slipped his hands over the bare skin of her waist.

The feeling of his hands on her skin was too much for her. She found herself pushing him back onto the couch, sinking in a fluid movement into his lap – straddling him like she had in his bedroom that morning. But, seeing his eyes on her chest, she pulled her top over her head, exposing her bra and the top of her breasts.

"I don't know what to do," he said, swallowing heavily.

"I'll show you," she whispered, her hair creating a curtain around them, as if they had their own secret world. She guided his hand to her skin, kissing him as his hand finally brushed against the fabric of her bra. She almost groaned aloud at the sensation, her mind saying over and over: _this is it, this is it, this is it._

She adjusted herself on his lap, hearing him groan slightly in the back of his throat. She pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt, until finally he relented and allowed her to pull it over his head. She almost threw it over the back of her couch, but seeing his stricken face, she folded it carefully before kissing him once more – on his cheeks, on his mouth, on his eye lids.

She pulled back slightly to regard him. "Why are you letting me touch you like this?"

"I don't know."

She gasped as he pressed his lips to her neck. "Wh-why are you touching me like this?"

He pulled back, eyes drinking her in as her hands ran over the exposed white of his chest.

"I don't know."

She pulled back, suddenly, regarding him as his chest heaved. He wasn't lying to her, he wasn't making excuses. He genuinely had no idea what it was that was happening between them. And for the time being, he didn't care that he didn't understand.

He looked so beautiful in the dim lights of her apartment, she was filled with thoughts of tenderness towards him. For once, he wasn't afraid, he wasn't running away.

"Do you want to go to my bedroom?" she asked, burying her head in his shoulder – avoiding his eyes out of an odd sense of embarrassment.

When he was silent, she pulled back to see his face, finding that he was not panicking. Rather, he seemed to be calculating – attempting to make sense of what it would mean, what he would lose if he were to say 'yes'.

He was nervous, that much was clear on his face. But, more than that, he seemed scared by the magnitude of what she seemed to be suggesting.

He opened his mouth, as if to answer. But, before he could, his cell phone broke the silence between them – the Dr Who theme song almost echoing in her quiet apartment. Not quite knowing what else to do – and aware that leaving a phone within reach was a breach of the implicit agreement between caller and called – Sheldon answered his phone.

"Missy. Now is not a particularly convenient time."

In the silence between them - Penny on his lap and his hand still idly holding her in place as if without noticing – both of them could hear his sister's voice.

"Shelly - it's MeeMaw. She's sick."

* * *

><p>[1] Based on the article on the Higgs Boson particle that was published in <em>The New York Times<em> on 4 July 2012.

[2] Edward Witten

[3] Quote form Pearl S Buck

[4] Cribbed from an article from the 19 June 2012 editiion of the _Daily Mail._


	9. Chapter 9: This wide night

A/N: A fairly contemplative chapter for you guys this time. I have a lot of plans for the next one, so this is a bit of a bridge between the Californian part of the story and the Texan phase. Hope you enjoy even though it's largely reflection!

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Nine: The Other Side of this Wide Night**

_Somewhere on the other side of this wide night_

_and the distance between us, I am thinking of you._

_The room is turning slowly from the moon._

_This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say_

_it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing_

_an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear._

_La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine the dark hills_

_I would have to cross to reach you._

_For I am in love with you_

_and this is what it is like or what it is like in words._

Carol Ann Duffy, "Words, Wide Night"

* * *

><p><em><strong>24 November 2009, 3.47pm<strong>_

_**Scholes International Airport, Galveston, Texas**_

Whenever the plane descended through cloud cover, he was always struck by the way Galveston Island seemed to pull away from the rest of Texas.

For a moment, he would feel a fleeting moment of kinship with his hometown, but then the terrible flatness of it – the bleakness, even of the ocean stretched out to nowhere – would erase the feeling and leave nothing but distaste in its wake.

He fancied on some level that Galveston felt the same way about him.

But there was no time to let whimsy overtake him; because somewhere in this flat expanse, his MeeMaw was lying in a hospital bed.

It had been a quiet flight, without turbulence or disruption. Or perhaps there had been both those things and he had just been too distracted to notice. A child next to him had coughed once, but he hadn't been able to formulate the words to ask to be moved.

But in the stillness and the quiet there was time for the memories to overtake him. Memories that he had never been able to rid himself of, but somehow managed to silence with the steady hum of daily life. But, there was nothing to distract him in this metal cage. There was nothing but the sound of engines and the gentle questions of the stewardesses.

The memories were small and inconsequential. The big memories: the ones that terrified or moved him, those he couldn't think about until he had laid eyes on his grandmother. The memories he was left with were tiny. But each one was accompanied with a sharp sting, like the feeling of having rocks thrown at him by his next door neighbour.

He remembered everything so clearly, so perfectly. His brain held a perfect record of every painful moment of his life.

For some reason, he found himself remembering the way it had felt to go to his high school graduation - alone. His mother had been working, and with his father passed out in the living room, there was simply not enough money to go around.

(Her boss wouldn't allow her to go see her eleven-year-old graduate - he had assumed she had been talking about some kind of ceremony for children, where everyone got a certificate. It wasn't until he read about Sheldon in the paper that he truly understood the memory he had robbed her of.)

Missy might have come if he'd asked her, but it hadn't occurred to him to ask her to leave the warm circle of her giggling friends for a lunch time spent watching her brother take yet another step away from her.

It wasn't until he was sitting in his allocated seat, perfectly straight as the boys on either side of him jostled his shoulders and turned around to wave impishly at their families that Sheldon found himself wondering where his brother was.

He was surprised by his own train of thought; he had certainly never derived any particular pleasure from his brother's presence. But, the Junior High and the High School were in the same building and it would have taken no more than a stroll across a playing field to arrive at the gaudy bleachers where Sheldon sat, his top shirt bottom done up and his socks pulled up to his knees.

He had peered over his shoulder, seeing only unfamiliar faces in the crowd.

He hated crowds like this. He hated the falseness of graduation as a right of passage. It had been a violent, unpleasant experience. He had spent only months completing the curriculum, but it had felt like 10 years in the Spartan agoge. He longed to leave here and step onto the bright path that awaited him. He hated the Neanderthals on either side of him, whose shoulders were so broad and kept cutting into his space no matter how often he asked them to abide by the implicit boundaries constituted by the space between their plastic chairs.

He couldn't wait to be rid of this school, the jealous pupils and the intellectually lightweight teachers. He disdained the emphasis they placed upon this event – the snivelling tears of girls and the gruff handshakes of boys. When the principal started reading names, one by one they ascended the stairs to take their diploma. And the moment they did there would be wild applause from one corner of the audience.

It was barbaric and undignified. But, for some reason, Sheldon felt a strange anticipation build in his stomach. Soon it would be his turn and the crowd would clap so quietly that it would seem silent and he would hurry back to his chair feeling oddly and irrationally ashamed – the way he had when he had been picked last for a sports team, even though he understood that the captain had merely been weighing the relevant factors.

Soon it would be his turn and the pattern – name, handshake, hollers of approval – would be broken.

When his name was called, he climbed the stairs in a robe that was too big for him, his face already heating up in anticipation of the humiliation that would follow.

"Our favourite son accepts his diploma," the principal had said an undertone with an insincere smile. "We – uh," but his voice had faltered as he noticed Sheldon's surgical gloves.

Smiling for the official photographer, the principal reached out his hand to shake Sheldon's protected right hand. Sheldon's hand had shaken slightly, but then he had heard a single voice ringing out clearly from the crowd.

"Yay, Moonpie!"

He had stood there, frozen, his eyes locked on his MeeMaw's, as she stood on her feet applauding wildly, not minding the snickers of his classmates or the odd looks of the families around her. She must have caught two buses to get here, and for the life of him he hadn't been able to do anything but stare at her, a strange smile on his face, as the rotund principal tried to hurry him off the stage.

That first memory had opened a floor of other memories, tinged in sadness, but warmed by the presence of the most amazing, obstinate and strong woman Sheldon had ever known. It had been MeeMaw who had called up the mothers of the boys who ran after him with sticks in their hands – threatening to hit them with her walking stick if they laid so much as a finger on her grandson. It had been MeeMaw who had painstakingly cut out every newspaper article that was published about him. She stuck them on her refrigerator.

He had read once that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good. But Sheldon Cooper always remembered everything, exactly as it had happened – without embellishment or nostalgia.

With the truth ringing in his ears, he pressed his palms to his forehead and sat in the seat at the arrivals lounge.

(_What's happening in that giant brain of yours?_)

Unbidden, the thought of _her_ came upon him. Feeling less agitated, he allowed his brain to drift towards the warmth of Penny. These memories were maddening too, but maddening in an exquisite way.

(_Tell me what you want, Sheldon.)_

He sat up slightly in his chair, remembering the way it had felt to have her pressed flush against him, his hands on her leg, on her breasts, his mouth on hers and the swooping feeling in his stomach and the beating of heart.

(_Touch me, I want you to._)

He didn't resent his eidetic memory quite so much when it summoned images of his hands overflowing with her as she breathlessly whispered: _do you want to go to my bedroom?_

It was so strange to hear those words spoken to him.

So quiet and manageable was the routine of his life before everything had changed. He had never prepared himself for the thrilling strangeness of another person – so demanding and frustrating and caring – demanding that their presence be acknowledged. He had never prepared himself for the feeling of wishing that he could make that person appear by simply willing it.

Had he wanted to go to her bedroom?

Even Sheldon knew what it would have meant to cross that threshold at that moment. He had known that everything would change, but he hadn't been able to calculate the precise outcome when Missy's voice had cut through and broken the spell that Penny seemed to have cast on him.

He had been relieved and disappointed – and then guilty. Guilty to be thinking of romance and the things he had always derided when his MeeMaw had been lying in hospital with a monitor counting out her heartbeats.

The guilt reared its head once more and Sheldon wondered how all these people around him managed to hold so many of these wretched emotions inside of them. Although, he supposed that they would probably wonder how he could go on with all of these wretched memories inside of him.

He sat and remembered until he heard Missy's voice, interrupting him once more.

"Come on, Shelly. Momma's waiting."

* * *

><p><em><strong>24 November 2009, 11.58pm<strong>_

_**On the other side of the wide night**_

Penny was worried.

How she hated to admit that. She had watched her mother worry about them – worry about her brother, worry about her sister, worry about Penny herself – until all that worry had marked her face and extinguished the light in her eyes. She had rolled her eyes at her mother's worry. It had seemed so parochial, so dowdy and materal. Penny had run from that worry as fast as she could – with the wind in her hair and her eyes on California.

Penny had thought it made her modern, being so determined not to worry about anyone. In those paperback novels she read in that first awful apartment with Kurt, lovers had hungered for each other, they longed for each other and raged against each other. Lovers didn't _worry_ about each other. Lovers fought and fell apart.

All of her boyfriends had been like that; so eager to tear down her world and leave it crumpled at her feet. She had thought that was love – the feeling of never being quite okay and always feeling on the verge of tears. Her friends who had told her to leave Kurt had told her that love didn't have to come with pain. She had thought that they just didn't understand what love was. Because she loved Kurt the best way she knew how. All _that_ love had gotten her was a wrist in a cast and $50 in her bank account.

She never worried about Kurt; she worried what would be left of her when he was done and she worried that she was losing herself. But she never worried about him. He would be just fine.

(_Maybe I should call him, just to ask how his flight was_.)

When she finally gave in to Leonard's ministrations, she had worried that she was somehow defective. Because he worried about everything – worried how she saw him, whether she was going to leave him. And she had told herself that being with Kurt had just fucked her up. Leonard was kind and thoughtful and caring. _That_ was love. Wasn't it?

Perhaps it was _her_. Perhaps she just wasn't wired for it. Her mother had screamed at her sister when she'd gotten pregnant at 16. Her mother had screamed and her father had been so silent and ashen-faced. Her parents had been so distracted by Jimmy that they hadn't seen the latest train wreck unfolding in their family. Her mother had screamed until her voice was hoarse.

But, that night, when Ashlee was retching over the toilet, nauseous and crying, her mother had slipped into the bathroom and sat on the floor next to her. She stayed there all night, whispering soft words and holding Ashlee's hair back. She stayed all night and Ashlee had finally fallen asleep with her head on her mother's lap.

"Thank you for staying with me," Ashlee had said when morning came and an awkward silence had settled over mother and daughter.

"Where else would I be?"

(_I could call Mary or Missy, even. I don't have to call_ him._ But, they'd all be in the hospital.)_

She hadn't recognised it at the time she had found out about Ashlee's secret, but she recognised it now. Love didn't look like it did on a movie screen. It was easy to fall in love in a nice dress, but real love is on the bathroom floor when you're scared and sick. Love is '_where else would I be?'_ when you're in the last place you want to be. Penny had never wanted to be on the bathroom floor for someone.

But, now she was _worried_. She had worried about Sheldon in the car on the way to the airport. She had worried about him with his messenger bag and suitcase. She had worried about him on the plane. She had even convinced herself that it might be better if she went with him – even thought she knew that it was a foregone conclusion that he would be a nightmare on the flight.

She had wanted to go with him. She had wanted to, but she hadn't wanted to ask him. He had looked so lost when he had hung up the phone. He had looked so scared and lost, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

She had clambered off his lap when the phone rang. She felt so foolish sitting there, topless. The spell had been broken the moment his phone had rung. She had pulled on her singlet and worried that he was cold without his t-shirt on.

But, then the look on his face had made her forget everything. As Missy spoke, Sheldon looked at her – not with the hood-eyed desire of earlier, not even with his personal brand of haughty disdain. It was not a look she had seen before.

He _looked_ at her - and she couldn't even come close to describing it. All she had been able to think of were his light blue eyes, as clear as a pool of water where light bends and refracts, as playful as a kitten. All she had been able to think was that she would do anything to protect him from this. She would protect him from anything if it meant that no pain would ever come to him. She'd stay right here in this room with him, even if it meant she would never go dancing again. Or, she'd leave if he asked her. She would build him that ice fortress thingy from _Superman _and close the door behind her. She would do anything.

The strangest thing was that it didn't make her feel weak; it made her feel _strong_. It made her feel fierce.

But, then the call had ended and he had looked down at the phone in his hands on his lap. He had looked down and his eyelashes had cast shadows against his cheeks. When he looked up again, his eyes had darkened.

"I've gotta go to Texas."

He had packed only a small suitcase, mostly empty. There hadn't seemed to be time to do his usual packing rituals, but he bowed his head against this indignity and reminded himself it was for MeeMaw. The soonest flight was the next day and she had wanted to stay with during the night, but she had known that her presence was confusing to him and he'd needed to be secure in the knowledge of things that made sense.

Neither of them slept well that night and when morning came the only thing that stopped her from buying her own ticket was her father's voice in her head: _it's a family thing_.

But now she was in her apartment with a glass red wine in her hand and trying to figure out why it felt wrong to go about her life while he was far away and in pain. She was worried about him and she was unused to the feeling.

She kept thinking about watching him disappear into the scene at the airport. She kept thinking about how he had almost blended into the crowd. But, then he had glanced over his shoulder as he passed through security.

_You're still here,_ he said to her with his eyes.

_Where else would I be?_

* * *

><p><em><strong>25 November 2009, 9.08am<strong>_

_**Galveston Hospital**_

He had brought a copy of that wretched _New York Times _article with him.

He hated to read about his greatest achievement – hear the way physics was dumbed down for common consumption, but he knew that MeeMaw would like it. She would have cut it out carefully, with absolute focus. The way she had focused when she put a bandage on him when he was a child. She would have put it on the refrigerator or she would have had it framed along with the other articles.

She would have been proud, he thought. He would have done anything to make her proud.

He had always hated hearing that insincere sentiment – that one would 'give anything'. But, for the first time in his life he realized that if someone had asked him to, he would have traded this discovery of his lifetime for his MeeMaw's life.

He sat next to her hospital bed. The doctors had gone for the moment and Missy had taken Mary to find some food. He had asked the doctors the rational questions. What stage was the cancer at? Would she have known? Was she in pain? Would she wake up?

His mother and sister looked to him for guidance as they navigated the forms and fuss that accompany a stay in hospital. He did it - because it was what he always did. But all the time his ears were filled by the sound of the beeping heart monitor and the rasping noise of a machine pumping air into MeeMaw's lungs.

There was a blood clot in her lung. It was a complication. And at her age it was a serious one. At her age with a body riddled with cancer that she'd never had treated, it was a possibly fatal one.

She had slipped into a coma, gently, they said. Without a fight.

It was so unlike her. She had always been so feisty, so determined and strong. At eighty years old she still read widely. At eighty years old she had started teaching herself about physics. She entertained his old colleagues from the University of Texas. She took life-drawing classes. She used a computer. She did everything that a widow of her generation shouldn't do.

And now she lay on her back, as a machine breathed for her and he rested a copy of the _New York Times_ on her bedside table, next to the picture of Jesus that Mary had placed there.

"I know you don't approve of that hokum," Sheldon said gently, looking out the window – looking anywhere except at her in that hospital bed. "But it brings my mother some comfort."

He bit his lip, feeling an odd satisfaction at the painful sensation. The steady _beep-beep-beep_ of the machine rang in his ears.

"They said you must have known that something was wrong. I remember what you said in that last letter you wrote me - " He took in a shuddering breath. "_I hope you don't think that you can only talk to me when things are going well. I have been feeling poorly, Moonpie, and wouldn't mind just hearing your voice._ "

He was surprised to find that his eyes were strangely hot and his voice was wavering as all the while -

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

- the sound of machines almost drowned his memory of his grandmother's voice.

"I didn't want to disappoint you again," he said softly. Finally, his forced himself to look at her face. "I am so sorry. I should have - "

But all at once it was impossible to keep speaking. Because the tears that had been threatening to come spilled over his cheeks and the force of his made him bury his face on her hospital bed. He waited in vain to feel her hand pat the back of his head, the way it always had when he was growing up.

He cried until the tears stopped and it couldn't have been more than five minutes. But it was so uncharacteristic a show of emotion that he felt oddly drained. He turned his head to look at her once more, before reaching out his hand and wrapping it around hers.

"Please don't leave me," he whispered.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

* * *

><p><em><strong>25 November 2009, 12.08pm<strong>_

_**The Cheesecake Factory**_

Everything could look the same. Everything could _be_ exactly the same, but everything could be different.

Raj sat at their usual table, but he sat alone. He sat and watched the random strangers of Pasadena as they went about their daily lives. How many of them, like him, carried around secrets that scorched them? How many of them, as they read through the familiar brown menus, had woken up today and realized that they were complete strangers to themselves?

Of course, he reassured himself that none of them would be able to fold their napkins into the sweet swan he had created.

He was nervous and he knew it was obvious. He had seen Penny do a double take when she saw him. She looked around nervously, as if expecting to see Leonard and Howard shambling after him. They travelled in a pack, their little band of brothers. They travelled in a pack even as their little group splintered. He wished that life could be more like a television show, with balance easily restored in half an hour.

"I'll be right with you, sweetie – we're just getting swamped!"

He smiled and nodded as she squeezed his arm and hurried over to the old man who was threatening to leave without paying if she didn't take his credit card this instant. Penny was the very picture of a harassed waitress, but still she found time to smile at him and squeeze his arm. He wished success for her, he wished that her life would match the dream she had for it. But, life was messier than make-believe.

He didn't like messy television shows. He couldn't stand movies that didn't end with a kiss. He enjoyed the certainty of it, the fact that you could know that everything was going to be okay.

In real life, he saw again and again that things weren't okay. At least, things didn't turn out okay if you weren't ruthless like his sister, strong like his father and fierce like his mother. The world he lived in was one where ruthlessness, strength and fierceness were valued. He had always been the dreamer in the family. He had always pretended to be somewhere – or some_one_ – else.

Coming to America had been a welcome escape. He'd lost most of the residual hang-ups that festered away in close-knit, carefully controlled families. He'd even found friends who shared his love of fantasy and science. He'd felt included for the first time.

But, he still hadn't found himself.

He didn't understand, for instance, why he was sitting in this restaurant with an envelope with Penny's name scrawled on it. Perhaps he was wrong? Perhaps he had been imagining the look on Penny's face when she looked at Sheldon's. Or perhaps Sheldon's veiled questions about relationships were about some other girl. (Impossible.)

All he knew for sure was that Penny and Sheldon should not be apart, not when Sheldon's world was crashing down. The thought of one brought the thought of the other. Raj didn't know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way he had become aware of their strange kinship. He had ignored it for Leonard's sake. But, he was sick to death of ignoring things.

When Penny finally reached his table, she looked harassed and glum. "I tell you what, sweetie, if I thought I could get away with it, I would absolutely spit into the food of every old person from the Florida Palms Retirement Village. They all only ordered iced tea, but then they act like they're doing me some huge favour, talking about my tips and how the customer knows best. It makes me want to rip out their fake teeth and shove them up their – hey, wait – what are you doing here? Oh my god, is it about Sheldon's MeeMaw? Did you hear from him?" She hit herself on the forehead with her notepad. "Sorry, I forgot – you can't exactly tell me."

Raj looked down at his lap before looking up at his dear friend and doing something he could never recall doing in her presence before.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I can talk."

"What?" Penny asked disbelievingly, before a disappointed and concerned look overtook her. "Oh, sweetie, it's early for you to be drinking. Couldn't you write it down or something?"

"I haven't been drinking," he continued, in the same soft voice as before.

"You haven't?" Penny asked blankly, clearly shocked by the news that her friend was talking to her without any liquid courage.

Raj shook his head.

For a moment, Penny looked at him without any expression on her face. But then, with that awe-inspiring empathy of hers, she gently put down her notepad and pencil and reached down to take him in her arms. Without saying anything – as if she had been afflicted with his muteness – she gave him a hug and his eyes pricked slightly with unshed tears. His eyes pricked at the thought of all the conversations they could have had if he'd figured it out earlier.

She pulled back, laughing a little and shaking her head. "This is amazing," Penny said. "I've been wanting to _talk _to you without beer being involved. How is this happening?"

Raj blinked furiously to stop the tears that threatened at any moment to escape his eyes. "I stopped asking myself how to get over it, and instead started asking myself why it was happening in the first place."

Penny cocked her head to the side. "So? Why was it happening?"

"I wasn't listening to myself."

Penny looked as if she wanted to ask more questions, but at that moment a resounding crash sounded from the kitchen and one of the Florida Palms retirees clutched his chest as if the sound had given him a coronary.

"I should help them with that - " she smiled at him as if to reassure him that she would always have time for him. "But let me take your order first. Now you can tell me without getting your buzz on."

"I'm not ordering anything," he said simply, his voice gaining confidence. Wordlessly, he slid the envelope with her name on it across the table. She picked it up and stared at it, as if trying to divine what it contained. "I came to give you this."

"What is it?" Penny asked, glancing over her shoulder to where her manager was shouting at one of her co-workers.

"Plane tickets," Raj said simply, before standing up and pulling his jacket over his shoulders. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Wait, did you say plane tickets?" Penny called after him as he walked away. "Raj? What did you do?" As he waved over his shoulder and hurried to the exit, she opened the envelope to find a return ticket to Galveston, Texas. "I can't accept this – it's too…"

But, when she looked up, the door was already closing behind him. For a moment, Penny looked around the room at the silver-haired men and women who sat in booths and at tables. Her manager was still yelling, his face red and spittle flying out of his mouth. Nothing had changed. And nothing ever would unless she did something about it.

Without speaking a word, she unknotted the apron around her waist, folded it up and placed it at the table where Raj had spoken his first sober words to her.

Then, she walked away – almost unable to keep from running towards her future at full speed. There would be time for regret and self-doubt later.

Right now, there was only one place she had to be.

* * *

><p><em><strong>25 November 2009, 7.00am<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

Sheldon stood in the kitchen and measured one-and-a-half cups of oatmeal and three quarters of a cup of milk with perfect concentration.

So many people seemed to live these haphazard lives, leaving everything to chance. But there was a right way to do things. Perfection was simply a matter of acute concentration. It wasn't that he just made up these routines. They were perfectly polished – they were utter perfection.

Most people just didn't think about these things. They simply let their lives happen to them, as if they had no control over anything.

Sheldon's hand shook slightly as he poured his orange juice. He knew what this grim, joyless day would bring. More waiting and watching – hoping for some sign that that the doctors were lying and MeeMaw hadn't been fading away, quietly in her house.

Today there would be more waiting, watching and hoping – in a waiting room filled with people who had come into contact with God-only-knows what.

He may not be able to control the fact MeeMaw was lying a hospital bed as a machine told her when to breathe, but he could control how his oatmeal tasted. There seemed to be more and more things that he couldn't control. But, he could control _this_. He could control his body.

(_Penny's soft skin, the way it felt to kiss her, the noise she made when he traced his hands over her_.)

Well, he could control his mind at least.

"You look exactly like you did when you were a little boy."

_If you're not planning on paying for it, then it's freeloading. And Coopers ain't freeloaders._

Sheldon knew, intellectually, that it would have impossible for George Cooper to be standing in the kitchen. But, when he heard that voice everything froze. His brother sounded exactly like their father, down to the gruff Texan intonation.

He didn't really understand why, but every time he heard that voice, his blood ran cold. But then he would turn around and find his brother standing there with a scar on his right eyebrow and hair down to his collar. Apart from these features, George Jr and Sheldon looked very much alike, except where Sheldon's skin was pale and luminous in the morning like, his brother's had been tanned by the sun that beat down on him while he worked as a labourer.

"That is impossible," Sheldon said. "Puberty occasioned a variety of morphologic and physiological changes in me. Including the general increase …"

"I think I can guess what increased during puberty, Shelly," his brother scoffed.

Sheldon wrinkled his nose. "I was going to say body and pubic hair."

"I'm still not that keen on hearing about it."

"As you wish."

George stood next to Sheldon, pulling out a frying pan and making the refrigerator door rattle as he rifled through its contents, looking for eggs. Sheldon was lost in thought, watching his brother's hands as he masterfully whisked his eggs. George's hands were large and brown – freckled in places with a slight burn on the back of one, from when his ex-fiance had thrown a burning hot fry pan at his face after he confessed his infidelities to her.

Apart from that burn, his hands were identical to his father's. George probably didn't remember; their father had never raised his hand on his first son George Jr the way he had Sheldon. George Jr was the very embodiment of the form of masculinity that their father had admired. Although it was illogical, Sheldon had often felt like his father had done it intentionally – given his brother his hands to remind Sheldon of what a pansy-ass disappointment he was.

They were worker's hands, they were the type of hands possessed by the large-foreheaded dolts Penny had dated before Leonard (_Before Sheldon?_ – he buried the thought, even as it made goosebumps rise on his forearms). Sheldon's hands were unbearably long and pale in comparison.

Once, when he, George Jr and their father had passed some rare moments together at the kitchen table, their father had threatened to cut off one of Sheldon's fingers if he didn't keep the racket down when he played the piano. It was only a week after Mary had been given a battered old Yamaha by her church. She was so well liked by her church, even before the evangelical fervour of her later years had set in. It made her proud and gave her an excuse to be out of the house.

"_He'd just figure out a way to make a robot hand,"_ George Jr had joked to his father. "_Or invent a piano that doesn't need that that many fingers."_

George Jr had always been oblivious to the threat of violence that only Missy ever seemed to witness when it was inflicted on Sheldon. Missy was scared and speechless in those moments; there was no risk of her voicing a word about what she saw and the guilt of it would make her strangely devout as an adult, eager to forgive Sheldon, even as the memories lost their sharpness as they entered adolescence.

Sheldon's brother was just too busy. He had too many friends, too many girlfriends, too many nights out without remembering what happened. But that day, as their father laughed indulgently at his son's joke, George Jr had turned to look at Sheldon – his odd little brother. And when he looked at Sheldon he found him sitting in his seat, white and pale under his freckles. Sheldon didn't have to see his own face to know that it was frozen in a look of abject terror.

He _knew _it. In that moment, he'd had no doubt that his brother knew that Sheldon was honestly terrified of their father's threat. He glanced sidelong at their father, before looking again at Sheldon, who was still too young to have mastered his own expression. The moment had lasted until their father had slapped George Jr on the shoulder and announced that it was football time.

Sheldon had fancied that his brother might protect him. But, that idea was left on the curb outside with the piano. George Jr had been drunk for most of his teens and the majority of his twenties. Now in his thirties, Mary relayed to Sheldon that his brother had dried out, was trying to take responsibility for his mistakes. Sheldon had made polite noises to hide the skepticism he felt deep down in his soul.

Sheldon told himself that he held no grudges against his family, that he was too evolved to worry about what had come to pass in his childhood home. His father was long dead.

But, even now, he couldn't stop staring at his brother's hands as they sat at that same kitchen table.

"Shelly," George said suddenly, breaking Sheldon's reverie. "I wanna say I'm sorry."

Sheldon was perfectly still, his spoon paused between his bowl and his mouth. Surely George wasn't talking about those unspeakable acts that had occurred at their father's hands. They had never mentioned what had happened in this house. None of them. Sheldon himself had never spoken a word of it.

"I wanna say I'm sorry for the way I talked to you in the hospital. I know you were worried about MeeMaw and just talking to the doctors. You get what they're saying more than the rest of us and they listen to you. I was just angry that I wasn't helping."

Sheldon knew what his brother was referring to. Yesterday in the waiting room, while Sheldon attempted to explain what the doctors had told him, George had spat the words "_I'm not fucking stupid. Stop acting like I'm fucking stupid." _Sheldon wasn't even offended by it. He had no concept of how it would feel for someone to feel like they weren't as smart as everyone else. Although, he knew from his friendship with Penny that he was often insensitive about people's feelings. George's eyes were burning into his; as if trying to convey something. Perhaps this was just part of apologising. He wished Penny were here to explain how he should react to George's announcement.

(He missed her with a sudden ache that pulled at his chest).

"Thank you," Sheldon said uncertainly. "Your apology is accepted."

George seemed placated at that and started stirring the eggs on his plate with his fork. "MeeMaw's been sick for a bit now. Why do you think she didn't tell us she was feeling poorly?"

For the second time, Sheldon felt a thrill of guilt. He had been the only person who MeeMaw had mentioned this too. Even though the doctors spoke of the steady march of cancer, Sheldon couldn't help but feel like if he had just _called _her or written to her he might have been able to prevent all of this from happening.

He hadn't taken care of her properly. She had always been the one to take care of _him_. And now he was so full of things he wanted to say that he wondered whether it might have been less painful if he had never known MeeMaw to begin with.

There was a strange feeling in his chest, like ice. But, he swallowed it down. _MeeMaw was going to be fine._ He thought it, even though he didn't believe it. No one was fine. Not really.

"Perhaps she told us in her own way," Sheldon said darkly. "Or perhaps we should have known it without being told."

George seemed to sense that he had struck a painful note. Sheldon had gone back to staring at the table. With a heavy sigh, George reached up to clap Sheldon on the back. But, Sheldon flinched before he had a chance. The brothers made eye contact for a moment, before looking away – as if tacitly agreeing not to mention the fact that for a moment Sheldon had been convinced that it was his father reaching over to hit him.

"I want to do right by you, Shelly," George said, staring hard at his breakfast, not daring to look at Sheldon in case he was reminded once more of his brotherly failings. "But, I'll be damned if I know where to start."

"Well," Sheldon considered, stirring his oatmeal thoughtfully. "You could start by calling me Sheldon."

His brother let out a bark of laughter. And for the moment, everything was okay.

* * *

><p><em><strong>25 November 2009, 12.30pm<strong>_

_**Caltech**_

The idea had come to him almost a week ago. There had been a brief moment of clarity, when Leonard had suddenly understood what this whole Penny and Sheldon strangeness was about. Sheldon had been making the greatest scientific discovery of his life – he was re-evaluating his life. He was craving companionship. So companionship Leonard would find him.

Of course, that was before Leonard had realized that according to the internet, Sheldon was compatible with no one.

He'd spent hours looking over his answers to the questions, trying to determine exactly how Sheldon would answer each one. He was confident he'd come as close as anyone could have come to answering the questions as Sheldon would have.

He'd even found a dating site, which balanced a variety of personality, education and philosophical qualities. It was the sort of site frequented by middle-aged divorcees and nerds – a mythical space where intelligence was just as important as appearance. (Leonard knew this to be untrue).

Of course, even during his single-minded quest to find someone that he could present to Sheldon as a fait accompli soul-mate, Leonard was confronted with moments of self-awareness. He could hear his mother's voice, he could hear what she would say of his lonely evenings trying to trick his friend into falling for someone other than Penny.

_Your attempts to control other people are destined for favour. They will revolt against you. Perhaps this time would be better spent controlling those short-comings that stand in the way of your romantic success. _

His mother's voice rang in his ears. He hadn't called her for weeks – not since he and Penny had broken up. The thought of speaking to her, of allowing her to take the measure of his life, was too much for him.

She would make him feel small, when he already felt miniscule. Perhaps he would have disappeared entirely under her gaze.

_Ping!_

A little envelope with a heart on it appeared in the top right-hand corner of his screen. Although he was alone in his office, he couldn't help but look over his shoulder in case someone was watching him on .

With a strange sense of anticipation, he found himself clicking on the envelope to find out who was Sheldon Cooper's perfect match. When the name popped up, Leonard found himself sounding it out, trying to imagine Sheldon saying it.

_Amy Farrah Fowler._

It was a good name, Leonard thought.

* * *

><p><em><strong>25 November 2009, 8.30pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

She had made a terrible mistake. That was clear to her, as the rain turned her hair to string and made her mascara turn to rivulets on her cheeks.

She had booked into a truly awful motel – the sort of motel where half the lights on the sign were black so that it read '_OT_L'. The greasy attendant behind the counter had smiled at her, checking out her ass when he handed her the key to her room. He had a handlebar moustache and would have seemed more at home on a Harley Davidson than behind a counter at a down market Galveston motel.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She just needed to make sure that he was okay.

Now that she was standing outside his family house - soaking wet – she found that she didn't know what to say. She didn't know whether it was all right that she was here. She didn't know whether she was intruding.

She almost chickened out of pressing the doorbell several times, until finally the cold night and her wet clothes compelled her to press.

The sound of bells chimed inside ("_I'll get it!_") and Penny found herself feeling unbelievably stupid as the door opened and a man she didn't know stood looked at her quizzically. He strongly resembled Sheldon, so Penny guessed that it must be George, Sheldon's older brother.

"Well hey there, pretty lady," he said with a half-smile. "You look like a drowned rat."

Before Penny had a chance to respond, he was elbowed out of the way by Missy Cooper, whose gorgeous face was arranged in a glare.

"George, Momma doesn't like it when you – _Penny?_" Missy gaped at her, surprised.

Penny shrugged nervously, as if to say: _it's me!_ She knew that she should have called ahead, but she had been riding the wave that Raj had set in motion. It had seemed imperative to get here. Calling would have required rational thought. Calling would have given her time to stop packing and start thinking.

"Is this a friend of yours?" George asked, looking Penny up and down approvingly.

"A friend of Shelly's," Missy said, her head cocked to the side as if trying to figure Penny out.

"A friend of _Shelly's_? Well I'll be damned."

The siblings made no move to allow her to enter the house. They were too bemused at the sight of her to even think of moving aside. Penny found herself tongue-tied and awkward, knowing that her father would call her a fool for turning up this way when the family was in crisis. Of course, they didn't look in crisis. They looked like two impossibly tall and attractive people trying to make sense of why the Pasadena Bag Lady had appeared on their doorstep.

"I…uh…I'm so sorry to hear about MeeMaw," Penny said, finally gathering her wits. "I…you know…wanted to make sure that Sheldon – well all of you, really - " Penny realized she had never met George "- well, mainly that Sheldon was okay." She looked down at her feet, wondering whether it would be possible for her to command the earth to open up and swallow her.

She looked up to see that Missy was wearing an oddly knowing smile. "You came all the way to Texas to make sure that Shelly was okay?"

"Oh I get it now," George nodded suddenly, letting out a little chuckle. "You're a _friend_ of Shelly's. Well I gotta say, the boy peaked late but he peaked high."

For this contribution, George earned himself an elbow in the ribs from Missy. Penny knew that they had bonded during Missy's visit to California. But, she also knew that Missy would be the most determined to confirm whether she really was Sheldon's '_friend_' – in that knowing, mocking tone of voice that George had perfected. Missy opened her mouth – but whether she planned on protecting Penny or interrogating her, Penny would never find out. Because, at that moment a new voice joined them in the entrance hall of Mary Cooper's house.

"What is going on out here? The open door is causing a draught in the living…"

George and Missy parted to look back at their brother. The moment they did, Sheldon's eyes fell on Penny.

Despite years of practice, it would not have occurred to Missy or George to make fun of Sheldon in that moment.

Because, he stood there, in his silly Green Lantern t-shirt with a long striped shirt underneath, but his face was as worldly as they had ever seen it. He looked overwhelmed by the sight of her, but his expression had ceased to be shocked and had instead passed into another phase. He looked relieved and terrified all at once. But most of all, he looked surprised. Surprised that another person would fly halfway across the country to see him. In fact he scarcely dared to believe it.

"Penny?" he half-asked, half-breathed.

George and Missy looked at the ground, at the wall – anywhere other than at the naked look of vulnerability on their brother's face and the over-wrought concern and tenderness on Penny's.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

Penny had no idea how to answer that. She would have liked to say '_Where else would I be_', but she didn't want to be quite so forthcoming in front of George and Missy. Of course at this point in her journey she was too brittle and exhausted to lie and say something flippant. So she stood there, searching for the words for an excruciating minute, while Sheldon stared at her with his heart-stopping blue eyes and his siblings glanced between them.

"I'm sorry for stopping by like this," Penny said, glancing at Missy for support. "I mean…unannounced…Is your mother here?"

"She's sleeping in MeeMaw's hospital room," Missy said, her clouding over for a moment. "She wanted some time alone to say…" Missy glanced at Sheldon. "She wanted to have some time with MeeMaw."

At that, Sheldon lowered his head. George swallowed tightly and stared at the wall behind Missy's shoulder.

"I should go," Penny said. "I mean, I can come back in the morning – when it's more convenient. I just wanted to see how you - " she glanced at Sheldon, but he was still examining his feet " – were all doing. I don't want to intrude."

"Stay."

All three of them looked at Sheldon in surprise. He ignored the incredulous looks on his siblings faces, and instead met Penny's eyes.

"I'll stay if you want me to," Penny said, blissfully unaware of his siblings.

"Stay," he said again.

Missy shrugged, the smile appearing on her face again. "Of course, Shelly's right. You should stay here tonight. Mom's room is free."

"Or you can sleep wherever," George interjected – attempting to give Sheldon a sly look, but was met with his brother's usual quizzical expression.

"I don't think Momma would - " Missy started.

"Your mother's room is fine – great," she interjected quickly, not wanting to push her luck. She was already elated by Sheldon's husky request that she stay. Next time she saw Raj she was going to plant the biggest kiss on him. "But I might need to dry off a bit."

"Of course, where are our manners?" Missy said, taking charge. "I'll get you a clean towel and show you to the bathroom."

Sheldon was still standing in the exact same position. But, as Missy led her into the house and George closed the door behind her, Penny squeezed his hand lightly as they swept by him.

_Thank you for coming_, his eyes said.

_Where else would I be?_

* * *

><p>Her hair was dry now and she was wearing one of Missy's nightdresses. The moment Missy had Penny in her bedroom, she wanted to pepper her with questions. Penny begged off answering tonight, promising to debrief in the morning. She knew that Missy suspected that this was not merely a social call; she'd been remarkably vague while pointing in the direction of Mary's bedroom. In fact, she'd even pointed out Sheldon's room, where he had retreated after Penny's surprise arrival.<p>

The floor creaked as she walked towards Sheldon's bedroom. Downstairs, she could hear the sound of George watching the television – _Friday Night Lights_ by the sound of it. She paused at his door, wondering how she could put into words the feelings that had been swirling around in her chest since he'd left Pasadena.

She didn't know, for example, whether she should tell him that it had seemed a terrible waste, when time was passing so quickly, for him to be in one place and her to be in another. She didn't know if she should mention that the thought of him in pain somewhere else was painful to her. Maybe she should just tell him that she was going crazy without annoying him at least once per day.

She knocked (_knock-knock-knock, Sheldon. Knock-knock-knock, Sheldon)_. She didn't care what she was going to say, really.

"Who is it?"

Penny couldn't help but roll her eyes fondly at that. "The Loch Ness Monster."

"Sarcasm?" he asked, through the door. She fancied she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Sarcasm?" she retorted. "Can I come in?"

"You are able to enter the room through the door. If you're asking for permission, I can confirm that you _may_ enter."

She bit back a groan at that, instead opening the door to find him sitting on the foot of his bed in his pyjamas. His hands were neatly folded in his lap. His room could have been frozen in time; there was a _Star Trek _poster, a model of some sort of particle, a rocket, a shelf positively groaning under the weight of awards and trophies – and one wall was almost entirely covered by a map of the solar system.

"So this is where you grew up?"

"Did you come all the way to Texas to engage in idle chit-chat about my formative years?" he seemed genuinely interested, as if this was as reasonable an explanation as any.

"No," she said. "I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because I know how much your MeeMaw means to you," Penny said gently, standing in front of him – falling just short of the v of his legs on the bed. "How is she doing?"

"She hasn't woken up yet," he said softly, his voice adopting that Texas twang of his.

"I'm sorry," Penny said, reaching out and brushing his hair across his forehead.

"I'm not used to this," he whispered.

"What?"

"Feeling like I have been wrong about everything."

She cocked her head to the side, aware that she was edging closer to him, as if afraid he would bolt if she moved to quickly. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "I spent so long always wanting to be alone. I thought I had limited my wants – I flattered myself, really.[1] Theoretically, I was satisfied. Still more satisfied when my work reached a new height. But I haven't been alone. Not really. MeeMaw's been there through everything. Now you're here in Texas because you were worried about me."

"Is that…okay? That I'm here? Do you want to be alone"

Sheldon looked up at her. "Did you read _Winnie the Pooh_ when you were little?"

"Winnie the Pooh?" she repeated, incredulously. "As in the honey pot and the bouncing tiger?"

She couldn't help but smile down at him, resting her hands on his shoulders and drawing faint circles on his shoulder blades. Even though he sat impassively under her hands, she could tell from the faint pink tips of his ears that he wasn't unmoved by her touch.

"It's a children's book by A.A. Milne," he said simply, ignoring her ministrations. "There is a line in it: _if you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you._ I never understood that line," he peered up at her shyly. "Until recently."

"You just quoted a cartoon bear to me," she teased, but she couldn't hold back her grin.

"No," he retorted. "I quoted a beloved children's book by A.A. Milne."

"Whatever, Moonpie."

But, at the sound of his grandmother's nickname for him, Sheldon's face become oddly frozen and blank. Penny realized immediately her misstep and tightened her arms around him. She pulled him close to her, letting him rest his head on her stomach.

"I don't know what I am going to do if she dies."

Each time they held each other this way, each time they touched it happened to her all over again – these contrasting feelings would bubble up inside of her to make her feel at once that she was taking one more step towards something terrifying, while also clutching a pillow or a beloved toy after a nightmare. For his part, Sheldon fancied that every time she touched her he was swallowed whole by the feeling, so that he couldn't look back or forward – he tipped into something he didn't quite understand but couldn't bear to leave.

His hands ran over the silky fabric she was wearing. Even he knew that they couldn't go one like this forever – that soon they would need to set about defining the strange topography of their friendship as it shifted from how it was before to what it had become. But, in this moment, with his heart aching with the anticipation of loss to come, all he wanted to do was clutch to what was here, now, in this moment.

He had gotten better at determining what this new feeling was – this longing to pull her closer, to shut out any sense of the outside world. He felt a needy possessiveness over her as she stood in the room where he listened to his mother and father fight. He felt like she might leave at any moment.

She seemed to sense his need; she lifted his chin with her finger and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips.

He kissed her back with surprising vigour. She found herself breathless, holding onto him, surrendering to his grasp as he pulled her closer until she straddled him and wrapped her legs around his waist – balanced precariously on his long legs that jutted out off the bed. Noticing her lack of stability, he scooted back on the bed.

They didn't break their kiss as Penny's hands slipped under his pyjama top and he lay flat on his back.

She was relieved to be able to offer him some respite from his feelings – glad to find that he was still a willing participant, even though she expected that at any moment he might suddenly change his mind. She would have liked to ask him about his MeeMaw, but she was distracted by his smooth chest, with the light sprinkling of chest hair.

She ran her hand further down his stomach, testing his boundaries. When she reached the top of his pyjama pants, she felt him tense under her.

"It's okay," she whispered into his neck before reaching down to undo the drawstring.

"Penny - "

"It's alright," she repeated, before undoing the string and – for the first time – slipping her hand into his pants.

The shock of it was greater than she had anticipated; she had never in a million years imagined that she would take such liberties with him. For the first time, she _felt_ irrefutable evidence of his attraction to her. She wrapped her hand around his erection and he groaned.

"Penny," he repeated. "Penny, I - "

She looked up at his face, shaking her head as if to clear it. His hands were bunching the sheets of his bed, he was frowning and biting his lip. Gently, she pulled her hand out of his pants. She had intended to comfort him, to take his mind off MeeMaw, but she had managed to make him more terrified and confused than ever. She should have continued to let him take the lead. But, she couldn't find it in herself to regret her actions; she would replay that moment again and again – although probably with a different ending.

Instead, she carefully did up the drawstring and occupied herself with drawing little Ps on his stomach.

"Sheldon," she said gently from her position above him. "We don't have to do anything. Not if you don't want to."

"We don't?" he said, looking oddly relieved. "But I thought that it was a social convention for a man and a woman are alone in a bedroom - "

She interrupted before he could get too far into talking about social conventions; she was here to comfort him, not to throttle him. Of course, at that moment, with him staring up at her with his wide, terrified eyes, she felt nothing but tenderness towards him.

"We don't have to follow social convention," she said, before lying down next to him, propped up on one arm so that she could continue to watch his face. He watched her unwillingly, as if he would like to look away but found that he couldn't. She ran one hand over his hair, examining him closely as he closed his eyes for a moment under her touch. As always, the agony and pleasure were present in his face in equal measure.

"There is one social convention that I would like to try," he said uncertainly.

"What's that?"

He grimaced. "I believe that the colloquial expression is 'spooning.'"

She grinned widely before nodding. "We can try that."

"Alright."

Even though she knew that twice now their bodies had inadvertently twined around each other as they slept, she couldn't hide the fact that she was thrilled that he had suggested it. She might have been mistaken, but she thought that she might have heard a note of anticipation in his voice as much as he tried to hide it. But she didn't comment as she turned over on her side. When she felt his chest press against her back, she couldn't help but sigh. His arm wrapped around her awkwardly, as if he feared that at any moment she would change her mind and run out of the room.

Never one to suffer from awkwardness, Penny wrapped her arms around his and laced her fingers through his. She felt him relax against her and listened to the beating of his heart – a little quicker than normal. She felt so safe and warm in his arms. She moved only to turn off the bedside lamp. When she did, she saw that the roof of his bedroom was glowing with tiny stars - glow-in-the-dark stickers that he had used to painstakingly map the galaxy.

"I'm glad I'm here," she whispered as drowsiness overtook her.

She may have been mistaken; she was already half asleep. But she fancied that his arms may have tightened around her.

"So am I," he whispered into the night, as the stars he had arranged glowed over their heads.

* * *

><p>AN: More action next chapter, I promise. This chapter was more about transitioning to Texas. Lots of angst and action and romance to come! Thanks so much for the reviews; they keep me motivated. Also, if anyone is available to beta, I'd really appreciate it!

[1] This line is based on Henry James' _The Portrait of a Lady_.


	10. Chapter 10: What is there to say?

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Ten: What is there to say?**

"_But what was there to say? _

_Only that there were tears. Only that Quietness and Emptiness fitted together like stacked spoons. Only that there was a snuffling in the hollows at the base of a lovely throat. Only that a hard honey-coloured shoulder had a semicircle of teethmarks on it. Only that they held each other close, long after it was over. Only that what they shared that night was not happiness, but hideous grief. _

_Only that once again they broke the Love Laws. That lay down who should be loved. And how. And how much."_

- Arundhati Roy, _The God of Small Things_

* * *

><p><em><strong>That Night<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

He is the master of the universe and nothingness holds it together.

Only nothing can hold a planet in place. On the rim of nothing, the moon rotates around the earth. He _hears_ the song of the universe. He sees its secrets and knows that the greatest secret of all is that in this incomprehensibly vast universe, the real meaning is found in the pinprick of two fingers touching in a bed that is just a little bit too small for respectable distance.

The thought of it is devastating for someone like him, who had never spared much thought to fingertips. He falls into a restless sleep.

She watches him, even as she sleeps. She knows when he moves, when he draws in breath and when he murmurs words that sound like whispered names – a sleeping list of all those who have left him. She half-sleeps, half-guards him as he sleeps. She half-sleeps, but she wholly dreams of a future that is impossible.

_Unless it exists_, her sleeping mind reminds her. _Then it's not impossible. It's_ _improbable_.

They sleep and dream uncertain dreams. While, only a few miles away an old woman who handed out a life time of love to a little boy with socks pulled up to his knees slips further and further away.

She gave him nothing tangible. Nothing but love, which is unquantifiable – which is nothing, really. But, her particular brand of nothing holds his universe in place.

And it is disappearing with each shallow breath.

* * *

><p><em><strong>26 November 2009, 6.30am<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

Sheldon awoke suddenly, feeling oddly as if he had tripped and fallen into his body. The light. The sounds on the street. The feeling of Penny's leg wrapped around his. Each of these sensations he catalogued one by one, knowing that they would be with him forever.

Perhaps it was due to the low slump of the grey clouds outside the window, but it seemed a particularly glum thought. He would never be rid of a moment of his life. He would remember all of it, and people would always pick his brain for those small, inconsequential moments that they never took note of. It seemed like too great a burden for one person.

He shifted slightly, peering at Penny, whose face was partially obscured by her hair.

He couldn't decide whether or not he liked the feeling of waking up next to another person. For some reason he had yet to make sense of, he found that sleep came more easily when he lay with her. More than once over these confusing weeks he had woken up to find her gone and had felt oddly impoverished by her absence – his hand reaching out into cold empty space, the surface of his skin feeling suddenly exposed.

But, he wasn't sure that he would ever be comfortable with gaining consciousness to find that the clean boundaries that they had settled before sleep had disappeared. Her need to wrap herself around him may have been a strange sort of comfort during the sleeping hours, but now that he had woken up before her, he felt an anxious sort of swoop in his stomach as he considered how to extricate himself.

"Penny," he said softly, eyes on the ceiling.

He didn't expect her to answer; he hadn't really intended on waking her. Nor had he expected to feel her hand run from his bicep where it rested near her cheek down the length of his chest to his stomach. He drew in a sharp breath; his stomach was exposed where his pyjamas had ridden up. Her hand came to rest under his navel. In spite of himself, he recalled the feeling of her reaching down his pants last night –

He quickly slid out from under her hand, no longer concerned that he would wake her.

The house slept on as he padded down the stairs into the kitchen. His mother, he assumed, was at MeeMaw's bed-side saying the goodbyes that the rest of them couldn't bear to. The thought of it made his already sour mood worsen. He stood in the kitchen, next to the window that looked onto an apple tree, and found that he didn't feel like cereal. He didn't feel like eating at all. The thought of food turned his stomach.

He didn't know quite what to do with himself.

His mind wandered back to Penny, lying in his childhood bed with her blonde hair on his pillow. What was this strange feeling the thought of it evoked? Why did he feel at once the need to run and the desire to stay forever? Did she live her life this way? Never quite knowing what to do with herself? Running around on impulse without direction?

Being with Penny had always made him feel as if he had entered the frenzied world of quantum mechanics.

Without any conscious thought, he wandered back upstairs towards the back of the house, where the stairs led up to the attic – his private domain, his first laboratory.

But, for the first time that he could remember, he didn't want to think about physics. He didn't want to think about anything at all. What he wanted was the familiar, empirical certainty that he had enjoyed only six months earlier.

"Thinking about disappearing into your clubhouse in the attic?"

Sheldon whipped around to find his sister there. Missy was smiling at him – that familiar, wide smile of hers that always seemed to be making fun of him, even though she had turned into someone deeply preoccupied with being kind. It was strange to look at her, fully grown, and to know that they had once shared their mother's womb. From the moment of their birth, they had pretty much agreed to go their separate ways.

But, sometimes, although he hated to consider the mystical, Sheldon could swear that he was feeling something he had no business in feeling, or remembering something he had never experienced. He recalled the story his mother always told – the day the neighbourhood boys finally caught up with him and beat him within an inch of his life – Missy had turned around to her mother and announced, with certainty beyond her seven years, that Sheldon was in trouble.

His sister lived a small life. Galveston was her life. Sheldon wondered, sometimes, whether the dullness of the town might seep into a person's skin if they stayed put for too long. He had never felt at home here. He had sat under the lemon tree in the front yard and wished that Dr Spock would appear and take him away. But, Missy was the sort of person who grew roots. And, for the life of him, he didn't know what to say to her, how to approach her, how to discuss those small moments that constituted everything that was important to her. He wished that Penny were awake to engage in that inane chattiness that was so easy for her, but which mystified Sheldon. He could tell from Missy's face – with that insight that never seemed to fade from twins – that she wanted desperately to talk, that she secretly wished that he were _better _at this.

"It's not a clubhouse," he said, without even thinking about it. "It was my laboratory."

She smiled, although Sheldon could see from the bags under her eyes that MeeMaw's illness was eating at her, just the way it was him. They had that in common, then. But, the idea of talking about it would be inconceivable. They cared for each other, but they never forced their way into each other's lives – and when he tried, he usually ended up in a great deal of pain.

"Well, why don't you come downstairs and I'll make you something to eat."

For a moment, he glanced over his shoulder at the stairs that would lead to his special secret place – where he had always felt most safe. But, the look of his sister's wide, beseeching eyes was too much for him. He let her down in so many big ways that he couldn't stand to let her down in the small ways. So, he dutifully nodded and followed her into the kitchen, where years ago she had seen unspeakable violence being inflicted on him by the father that they both feared. He wondered whether they would ever speak of it. Although, as they hadn't yet, he imagined that it would lurk forever, unsaid.

He sat at the table, watching as Missy pulled out a large yellow mixing bowl and the ingredients of pancakes. She cast side-long glances at him, as if trying to gather together the courage to ask him something. For his part, he was thinking of his MeeMaw, thinking of the _real_ story of his beating at the hand of the neighbourhood boys: the way that MeeMaw had marched to each of their front doors and spoken to their parents, the way she had spat at one particular parent, '_I don't care that your boy is stupid, what I care about is that your boy is mean'._

Sheldon often wondered why it was that family always seemed to mythologise the least important part of the story, while missing the real meaning. It was not a story about some psychic connection developed in the uterus…it was a story about the boys who hated him and the grandmother who tried to love him hard enough so that it wouldn't matter.

"So, it was nice of Penny to come all this way," Missy said, expertly whisking the batter. "Real nice."

"Mmm," he said, trying to sound non-committal, realising suddenly that he had wandered heedlessly into a trap.

"Y'all are pretty close, then."

He paused, sensing that he was on dangerous ground. "She is a close friend."

"She must be a _very_ close friend."

Sheldon stared at his hands, folded neatly on the table. "Sometimes I think that she might be my only real friend."

Missy's stirring ceased for a moment, and Sheldon looked up to see her examining his face closely. "Well, I don't know about you, Shelly. But I'd much rather one _true_ friend than a lifetime of fakers."

He considered her words, before nodding silently.

"But, Shelly," Missy said with a patronising smile, returning to her stirring. "When a girl flies halfway across the country to check up on a boy – well, that's more than just friendship."

_It's okay. It's alright._

Not for the first time, he cursed his eidetic memory as it dutifully conjured the memory of Penny wrapping her hand around the length of him – the joyful agony of her touch. It was not a memory he would have chosen to have in his mother's kitchen in Texas, while his sister made pancakes.

_We don't have to do anything. Not if you don't want to._

He _did_ want to. That was the terrifying part. He had been afraid of the strength of his reaction to her, scared of what it would mean to his life – to their relationship – if he had succumbed to his body's urges and allowed her to continue her ministrations. But, it was too much – it was too confusing. And over all of it, he was scared that she would tire of him and he would lose her. It was too easy to shatter a friendship. That had been a hard-learned lesson over the last few months. It could be stronger than any other bond, but it was also as delicate as a piece of porcelain.

"Good morning," came a chirpy voice from the door of the kitchen. "Oh pancakes!"

Sheldon immediately blushed beet red at the sight of Penny when she breezed into the kitchen, still wearing Missy's nightdress.

"Morning, Penny," Missy said with a sly smile, glancing pointedly at her brother. "You look more relaxed than you did last night."

Glancing at Sheldon, Penny couldn't help but stretch suggestively, feeling a swoop of victory as his eyes glanced down at her legs. When he noticed her eyes upon him, he immediately turned back to the table, suddenly fascinated with the marks on the wood.

"Thanks, I am," she glanced slyly at Sheldon. "It was exactly what I needed."

"Well," Missy said, spreading pancake mixture on a frypan. "You feel free to go into my closet and pick out something to wear. Although, I don't think Shelly minds your current outfit."

If possible, Sheldon blushed even deeper. Penny followed Missy's eyes and found him nearly combusting with embarrassment. A part of her was thrilled at his reaction, although she didn't want his siblings' teasing to drive him to scuttle off away from her.

Penny bit back a laugh as Sheldon spluttered indignantly. "Thanks for lending me everything. I'll go back to the motel today and change into some of my own clothes."

"Well don't do it on my account." The three of them turned to see George leaning on the doorframe. "My, oh my. Darling, you are enough to make a good dog break its leash."

"George," Missy said warningly, her eyes flashing. "Watch yourself."

Penny noticed that Sheldon looked distinctly miserable at his brother's words. Although she couldn't help but be charmed by George – so similar in appearance to Sheldon, but so outgoing and unabashed – she made a point of ignoring his statement and sitting pointedly next to Sheldon at the table. She noticed that Missy and George appeared to be having a silent argument about his behaviour.

Penny busied herself with watching Sheldon, noticing the way he kept glancing at her before looking away – as if he wasn't sure whether he was allowed to stare. Under the table, she placed her hand on his knee, causing him to jump slightly in his seat. But, he didn't push her away.

Losing interest in his telepathic fight with Missy, George sat opposite her at the table. "She doesn't mind – do you, darling?"

"She _has_ a Christian name," Sheldon interjected flatly.

George glanced at his brother, noting his stony countenance and lifting his hands in surrender. "You're right. Apologies, Penny."

She waved a hand, smiling at Missy when she put a plate of delicious choc chip pancakes in front of her. "No need to apologise."

George grinned, suddenly. "I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of Sheldon's first real girlf-"

"_George_."

But, it was too late. Missy couldn't force any of them to ignore the word that had been on George's lips. Sheldon sat very straight and very still in his chair, and Penny surreptitiously removed her hand from his leg. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering what in the world she was thinking. So giddy with these strange feelings, she hadn't really taken a moment to consider reality. Could she honestly imagine Sheldon ever wanting her to be his girlfriend?

She couldn't answer any of these questions; none of it was logical. It wasn't about logic. It was just what felt right. Being with Sheldon made her feel as though she had escaped from the narrow confines of her ordinary life, her ordinary mind, into the vast, extravagant spaces of his.[1] He made her feel as if there was an entire world belonging just to them – he made her look at the stars differently, made her want to be better. But, most of all, she knew with the perfect simplicity of biology that when he was _here_, she couldn't be _there._

"You should always avoid getting on the wrong side of me," Penny said, forcing a grin. "We Nebraskan women know how to handle ourselves."

"She will go all junior rodeo on your ass," Sheldon said wisely.

For a moment, George and Missy gaped at their brother before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

"Now I've heard everything - " George said as the phone began ringing.

Missy was still chuckling to herself as she answered the hand-held phone that was mounted on the wall next to the fridge. "Hello? Mom, what - "

The laughter of a moment ago had disappeared. Before their eyes, Missy's face turned ashen and her mouth twisted down into an odd and disconcerting shape. The sun slipped behind a cloud and the room dimmed.

Penny glanced at Sheldon's face, wanting suddenly to capture this moment – the moment before the moment after. She knew from Missy's face that in a moment everything would be different, that Sheldon would find the world a strange and daunting place.

"Alright," Missy said softly. "I will."

She hung up the phone gently, softly – moving in slow motion. Then, she turned around to the expectant faces of her brothers, desperately hoping that they had misread her expression.

"It's MeeMaw. She's…she died. This morning."

* * *

><p><em><strong>26 November 2009, 7.30am<strong>_

_**Somewhere Else**_

The strange part was that it didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all – this strange process of letting go of everything that had come before – of surrendering to something unknown.

It didn't hurt, but it also hurt horribly. It didn't hurt – but it hurt to know that soon he would be entirely alone, without anyone to care for him. The rest of them – they would be alright. They were strong, or they were kind or they were disarmingly easy to love. But Moonpie, her Moonpie. How long she had guarded over him with a love in her heart that was part caring and part fear for him. How long she had protected him from those who would hurt him, from himself – from anyone who would harm a hair on his head.

And yet, here she was, somewhere between this world and the next and all that was left was to perform that one last unkindness – to leave him behind. To leave him behind and trust that one day she would find her way back to him, back to where she could watch him.

She felt the life leaving her, so she left earth with one wish: that he should be loved, the way she had loved him. But, more than that – that he should learn to love.

It didn't hurt, dying. But it hurt terribly to leave.

* * *

><p><em><strong>26 November 2009, 8.00am<strong>_

_**Galveston Hospital**_

They left the house to find their mother rather than to see MeeMaw. The three siblings, tied together more by grief than they had been by their up-bringing, knew that there would be no comfort in seeing the place where MeeMaw had taken her last breath.

The fact of the matter was that MeeMaw had died entirely alone. Mary had decided to slip out – to return home only for a little while. And of course, as she drove down the street only four blocks from her house, she had received a phone call from the hospital.

She had spent the night weeping and holding her mother's hand. She had thought of the bible – of Philippians 1:23-24, which taught her: _I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account._ She had told her mother goodbye – that she would not keep her here out of selfishness. But, a part of her knew that her mother stayed put not for her daughter, but for her grandson who loved her even though he didn't really know what love was.

As she sat in the waiting room, surrounded by towering wooden walls, it occurred to her that she was not sad for her mother, who had departed this earth. She was sad for herself, her children – all those who needed MeeMaw to stay put. But, what right did they have to demand that she stay when her spirit knocked upon the door of heaven?

A strange sort of peace settled upon Mary Cooper, as her children – and, was that Sheldon's blonde friend, Penelope? – entered the hospital. In her daze, signing papers she had scarcely bothered to read, Mary did not process the implications of Penny's presence. She merely nodded at all of them, before settling her eyes on Sheldon.

"God bless, you," she said to all of them at once. "Your MeeMaw loved you so much – and now that love belongs to Jesus."

She saw, without really registering it, that Sheldon shied away at her words – that already he was pressing himself against the wall. For the first time, Mary considered what it meant for her youngest son – knowing that the world lacked the one person who had always known how to reach him. Scared for him, Mary felt tears fill her eyes. She became suddenly aware of a presence at her shoulder. Penny, giving her a look a great compassion, her eyes filling with tears. Oddly, Mary fell onto Penny's shoulder and cried and cried. She didn't think to ask what the girl was doing here, and when George Jr's arms replaced Penny's, Mary didn't mind. She was just grateful that someone's arms were strong enough to hold her.

She wept. Not just for herself, who had lost a mother. But, more, for the shoes she could never hope to fill.

For her part, Penny didn't quite know what to do, so she did whatever she could. She brought them food, she listened carefully to doctors and administrators who explained the forms. She found herself tag-teaming with George while Missy and Mary sat in matching orange chairs, holding hands.

But through it all, working with Sheldon's brother to hold the family together, Penny could not ignore her outsider status, could not help but shift awkwardly when nurses asked whether she was family.

"She's a damn good friend," George snapped, finally tiring of their enquiries.

"Thanks," she muttered to him, balancing tea and health insurance forms in her hands.

"No need to thank me. I'm just glad someone's here to look after Shelly."

Penny glanced over at Sheldon, who sat still and totem-like in a chair, slightly apart from his mother and sister. He examined a space in front of his eyes with perfect concentration. He didn't move and inch, didn't seem aware of anything. Without Sheldon accounting for her presence – the way he had last night when he had asked her to stay – she felt useless and underfoot.

But, she couldn't leave. She couldn't leave him sitting there so blankly. She sat down next to him and squeezed his hand.

"_I'm here for you_," she whispered.

But, he didn't say anything. She might have well ended with '_I'm here._'

* * *

><p>Sheldon had never considered what it was to lose someone; he'd known since he was a little boy the resilience of the human spirit. Put simplistically, he knew that he's <em>get over<em> MeeMaw's death. But, he also knew that he had never been anything close to ordinary.

To lose someone he cared about so deeply – to lose someone like that is to alter life forever. He had some sense that he would never get over 'it' because 'it' was MeeMaw. The pain may stop, he may draw comfort from his family, but the gap would never close. How could it? How could anyone fill the gap that MeeMaw would leave in his life – he fancied there was a hole in his heart that was the shape of her and no one else would fill it. Why should he want to fill it? [2]

He saw, without registering, the flurry of activity that accompanied a person's exit from the waking world. He knew that he should look over the forms – that he should make sure that nothing was missing or that they hadn't made an error. He saw Penny fussing over his family. He saw her running to and fro. He saw her with a strange objectivity that had been absent for weeks. She looked like a stranger to him. They all did.

But, he knew, on some level, that he should help them. Each family had a member who filled in forms, who remembered where the car was parked. In the Cooper family it had always been him – who better? But now he felt as if he were moving underwater. Sights and sounds were duller, he wondered – incongruously – whether his perfect memory would remember this day. He saw his mother and his sister cry and Penny standing by hopelessly with a tray of coffees. He saw George holding the clipboard pressed to his chest, his eyes filling with unshed tears. He should take the forms away from George. They would be ruined.

But, for the life of him, he couldn't order his arms to move. He sat on the chair – gutted, stripped, torn in two.

He tasted MeeMaw's absence in his mouth. He breathed through a hole in his chest.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 March 2008, 12.00am<strong>_

_**Los Robles, Pasadena**_

She had danced until it felt like flying, smiling over her shoulder and waving a finger at the strange men who lined the bar and eyed her approvingly.

She is broke, her head is buzzing and she is going nowhere - but she can dance better than anyone and she loves the way they look at her. She danced until her legs ached and her head pounded – and when she returned to the table where her friends sat, she found herself considering the little white pills that Trish always seemed to bring along to these clubs.

"Let me guess," Trish had rolled her eyes. "You'll pass?"

The other girls tittered and for the first time, Penny had felt oddly like a small town kid from Nebraska. She had never felt like this before: like an outsider, like someone who couldn't quite keep up with everyone else.

She had always steered clear of drugs. She had seen the way that drugs had ravaged her brother's life – and seen that they made him steal and lie and disappoint everyone around him. But, she had also always believed with a fervent sort of desperation, that she was destined for something greater than her family could offer. She had always believed that she was just a little too good to fall into this trap that caught so many in her hometown.

That had been before the endless rejections of Los Angeles – before she had seen how many young women who looked just like her had shared her dream – the mass delusion of a generation of corn-fed, blond bomb-shells who had sat in their paddocks and attics and dreamed of fame and fortune. She had made it further than most, arriving in this strange wonderland that housed so much potential and so much danger.

But, now, even her friends are rolling their eyes at her and her feet are aching.

_Fine. Give me one_.

Now, walking through the streets to get home, she finds it hard to remember whether she actually said that out loud. Did her friend just see it in her face that she wanted to surrender entirely to the night? She had danced and danced and danced, but then the lights had shifted and the club had seemed to loom threateningly and the men that watched seemed sinister. She hadn't told any of them that she was leaving. She had just slipped away, blackly aware that they wouldn't notice, wouldn't think to call, wouldn't make sure she got home safely.

She feels strangely empty under the streetlights that line the way home. _Home. _When the hell did apartment 4B become her home? Why does she find herself wondering what those strange Lost Boys next door are doing?

She hears footsteps behind her and feels her pulse race even faster. Her face, reflected in the glass windows of shops long closed looks pale – her mascara is running from a combination of sweat and tears that always seem to bubble just under the surface. She speeds up, and the footsteps speed up with her. She is no more than twenty meters from her apartment building, but she wonders for the first time whether she will make it – feels the strange desire to cling to her small life. Her life was meant to be so much more, but she will fight for it if it comes to that.

The glass door slams behind her – she all but jogged to it to escape the threatening patter of feet behind her. But when she turns to look at the person who was following her, she sees that it was another woman – taking the long walk home, but wearing flat sensible shoes.

A wave of nausea hits. She closes her eyes and slips off her heels, suddenly terribly weary. The three flights of stairs to her bed seem suddenly to be too much for her. She finds herself sinking down to sit on the landings when they come. She crawls up to floor. But when she reaches 4A she finds herself pressing her back against it, as if trying to seep in the warmth she feels emanating from the geeky, lovable boys who had let her into their fantastical world.

Her mind is foggy, she feels a little too hot to be comfortable. She scarcely notices that she is tapping quietly on the door to their apartment. All she knows is that she wants to surrender. Surrender herself to someone else's power. Surrender in a way she hadn't since she was a child and her mother had led her to her bed when she was running a fever.

Everything seems to happen in slow motion. The door opens and she slips down to the wooden floor – her back support suddenly gone. She stares up and up and up – until her eyes fall on Sheldon.

She feels many things at the sight of his surprised blue eyes. She is mortified, relieved and just a little bit disappointed that it is Sheldon and not Leonard who answers. In this state, she doesn't know what she would have done to Leonard. A part of her – the disappointed part – wishes that Leonard had made himself available so that she could at last act out her self-destructive instinct. She wants to take his image of her and tear it in two.

"Penny?" Sheldon asks, as if trying to compute what he is seeing – rifling through his catalogue of social interactions to determine whether he has been here before.

"I was dancing."

A strange sort of understanding crosses his face and Penny recognises for an instant that Sheldon has indeed been here before – been caught unawares to find someone out of control at his feet. A grave sort of expression comes over him as he stares down at her for a moment. She wonders, for an instant, still lying flat on her back, what it is he is remembering. She finds herself wondering about how little she knows about him, even if she does know how he likes his burgers and which restaurants he cannot countenance.

"You are intoxicated," he says, simply.

She nods.

The confirmation seems to be all he needs. He bends down, scooping her up behind the shoulders and moving her once more to a sitting position. Without saying a word, they work in tandem to put her back up on her feet. But, when she is once more standing, she teeters on her high heels, grinning when on an impulse he catches her around the middle.

"Sheldon – you're _hugging_ me," she whispers, before dissolving into giggles.

"I am countering the vertigo that has been caused by your excessive consumption of alcohol," he corrects her flatly, staring over at his laptop – almost longingly. Even in her addled state, she can sense how much he hates this. Waves of his disapproval wash over her as he helps her re-gain her balance. He holds out hand for her sparkly little handbag, fishing around for her keys so that they can take the long walk between their two front doors. "There is absolutely no order in this bag."

"My feet hurt," she moans, leaning against the door-frame, closing her eyes.

"Then take off your shoes," he says stiffly. "Or whatever you would call those death traps attached to your ankles.

"Can't," she says piteously. "I'll fall over again. And you won't catch me because you're angry at me."

He doesn't correct her, and she feels oddly bereft at the thought. To her surprise, he suddenly kneels down in front of her. His hands begin fiddling with the elaborate strap on her shoes, brushing her ankle.

It is a strange sort of half-thought – one that she would never allow herself to have consciously. The strangeness of it, to have Sheldon on his knees before her, combined with the hyper-awareness caused by that little white pill are making her consider things that never would have occurred to her. But, in the dark hallway, lit only by the dim light emanating from the desk lamp that Sheldon had been using to illuminate a thick book – there is something strangely erotic about feeling his fingers on her ankles, brushing over her feet. She finds herself wishes strangely that his hand will brush further up her leg.

She realizes with a start that he is standing up again, looking down at her with that aloofness of his that she had never quite been comfortable with. She notices his expectant look and finally realizes what he intends for her to do. She steps out of her shoes, scooping them up and nearly falling over again.

He is surprisingly strong when he catches her and leads her to her front door. They walk in silence, he is resigned to another night ruined by her presence and she is suddenly achingly aware of the way she must look to him. The tears are building in her eyes, and she stares at her door, willing them to stay at bay, willing herself not to scare him any more than she probably has.

But, he seems oddly used to her drunkenness, oddly familiar with the pitfalls of an inebriated person walking in a straight line. She is glad that he is not aware of her latest foolishness. She stands miserably at his side, holding her shoes by the straps, watching as he masterfully opens her front door. He leads her to her bedroom and she is suddenly strongly reminded of her mother – of her cool hands pressed to her forehead, of her _tsk_ing and bringing her food.

Sheldon pauses at her bedroom door, uncertain and horribly uncomfortable. He will go in, of course. He has learned from his mother always to see a woman home. He has just never had occasion to do so. He leads her to her bed, settling her down gently on the side of it. She sits heavily, burying her face in her hands.

"Would you like a hot beverage?" he asks, standing stiffly before her.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," she says pitifully. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

He tilts his head on the side. "I believe you are experiencing the impaired balance that is a common physical side effect of the ingestion of ethyl alcohol."

"No," she says, her voice rough through her burning throat. "I mean what's _wrong _with me."

"I believe you drink to excess," he offers helpfully, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"Do you think I'm a loser?" she asks, once more painfully aware of herself, feeling strangely constricted in her tight dress.

He considers her question seriously. "No, Penny. I do not think you're a loser. And I think you would engage in less self-destructive behaviour if you could find it in yourself to agree with me."

But drowsiness is overtaking her. She lies on her side, not bothering to adjust her dress, not bothering to shower. Even with her eyes closed, she can sense him moving away from her.

"Sheldon," she murmurs into her pillow. "I just want to say thank you."

But he is already gone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>26 November 2009, 3.00pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

Mary Cooper sent them home – her big maternal heart not making an exception of Penny. She went to her church, where her children knew her true mourning would begin. They were peculiarly excluded from the process.

Penny went to her motel room, and not knowing what else to do, she got dressed and left her bag in the corner. She would have liked to bring her possessions to Mary Cooper's house, but Sheldon had been unwaveringly silent. She watched him carefully. But he gave not a thing away.

(She drank two tiny bottles of vodka to take the edge off).

She arrived at the door of the house, where she had arrived last night and fancied that she might belong here. She knocked on the door and Missy answered, falling on her shoulder, weeping – doing everything they had already done in the hospital.

Penny stroked her back and told her that it would be okay.

"I wanted to check on Sheldon?" she murmured gently.

"He's either in his room or in his hideout in the attic," Missy said through her tears. "He hasn't said anything."

Penny squeezed her tightly, hoping to infuse some of her own strength into her friend. "Sweetie, I am _so_ sorry for your loss. I honestly don't know what to say."

Missy smiled bravely, wiping at her cheeks. "Meemaw was an amazing woman. She was so strong and tough and loving. She married my grandpa and had Momma at eighteen. My grandfather was impossible – bull-headed, stubborn, particular. But, she loved him rotten, you know? When he died she looked after the farm by herself. She was always dressed up, you know?" Penny nodded supportively, eager to hear about this woman who had a such a devoted grandson. "She wore beautiful clothes, she was a beautiful woman, even at the end. But, she wouldn't let what Pa built come to nothing. So she put her boots on and looked after everything. Sometimes, when my daddy was…sick…she would look after us grandkids too. I think she always wanted more babies."

"She sounds amazing," Penny said softly. "I've never heard Sheldon talk about anyone the way he does her."

Missy nodded emphatically. "She learned about physics – I mean can you imagine? At her age? She couldn't keep up with Shelly, of course; mostly she just listened to him."

"He probably needed that," Penny said, sensing that Missy needed to keep unloading, needed Penny to understand that stature of the woman they would sadly be farewelling this week.

"Well I was more interested in boys and George was definitely more interested in girls and parties. Momma was working so hard to keep us all afloat when daddy died. So Meemaw was all Shelly had. She even took him to see _Star Trek_, she dressed up in all sorts of silly costumes. She even asked me to take her to the new _Star Trek_ movie. When we left, she said that setting it in a different reality was cheating and that it was weird that Vulcan's sky was blue. I tell you, a little breeze could have knocked me over when she said that. But, I suppose she'd listened to Shelly going on and on - "

"And _on_," Penny added with a rueful smile.

"Well I don't need to tell you," Missy chuckled. "She just wanted to meet Shelly where he was, you know? In his own time and place. I think they had some of their best talks when they were talking about books or movies. That's how Shelly understands things."

"I'll tell you a secret," Penny smiled, smoothing her hands over her skirt. "I actually _like_ all his sci-fi stuff."

"You do _not_," Missy said, her face brightening. Penny's heart warmed at the sight of Missy's gorgeous smile. She still had mascara stains on

"I mean, don't get me wrong – I'm always going to have a soft spot for _America's Next Top Model_ and _The Bachelor_, but I like that the stories are so…I dunno…epic? They're all about friendship and loyalty. Of course, I didn't notice any of the inconsistencies in the _Star Trek_ movie. I was just waiting for Spock and Uhura to do the nasty."

"Oh I bet you were," Missy teased. "Picturing my brother dressed up in his Enterprise outfit pushing you up against the wall of the elevator in your apartment building."

Penny flushed red. "Well not in the elevator in our building…it's been broken a long time."

Missy squealed, nudging her in the shoulder. "Oh my goodness, I never thought I'd see the day. You have a _crush_ on my brother."

Penny wondered for a moment whether it would be possible to spontaneously combust from blushing. "It's not…I mean it's not as if…"

"I mean, I suspected something was going on when you showed up on our doorstep, but I suppose that I didn't quite believe it."

"No," Penny stammered, noticing that the blush had spread even to her arms. "It's not like that…"

Missy tilted her head to the side. "Honey, what is it?"

Missy waited patiently for Penny to collect her thoughts. It was hopeless; somewhere between her grief for this lovely family who had embraced her so gently, so easily, without any hesitation, Penny hadn't had time to think. It was all a blur. She had found herself hopelessly drawn to Sheldon, ending things with Leonard, and then kissing the life out of her Beautiful Mind neighbour – only to be interrupted by family tragedy. Just on cue, she had crossed the night, searching for him, wanting to make sure that the events in Texas didn't change him forever and knowing without a doubt that they would.

She had watched Sheldon coming unspooled and realized for the first time that she couldn't bear it if he were to disappear. She had sat by his hospital bed and found something in herself that didn't just want to offer warm platitudes. She looked down at him and felt this strange fierceness grow inside of her. She didn't need him to chase her or flirt with her. She needed him to keep a hold on who he was so that he could become who he could be. She wanted to help him become who he could be – not just scientifically but in every way – so that he could be not just a genius, but someone who was happy with his life.

When she admitted her feelings for Sheldon, Leonard had told her that Sheldon would never feel the same way about her as she did about him. But, he hadn't asked her about the feelings, about why she was walking down this masochistic path, why she would allow herself to be taken up in the tide of Sheldon Cooper. Looking at Missy's concerned face, her eyes gentle and utterly without judgement, Penny realized that she wasn't just asking about Sheldon's eccentricities and whether he was capable of feeling romantic emotions. She was asking about _Penny's _feelings.

"I've been involved with a lot of guys – no, it's true. I mean, not as many as Sheldon things, but still. I've had crushes for as long as I can remember. I've gone for these guys who are strong and domineering because I've just always admired people who know who they are because I've never really felt like I know who _I _am. I mean, other than someone who is chirpy and likes dancing and could hog-tie and castrate a cow in thirty seconds - " Missy snorted at that. "But, in my life I've never met anyone like your brother."

"He's an original, all right."

Penny nodded seriously. "He's just so intense about everything, so brilliant and stubborn. He really _cares_ about what he cares about, you know? I mean His Spot and his schedules and whether we all know that _klaatu barada nikto_ [3] is the secret code to gain admission to the bunker Sheldon will create in the event of the apocalypse. It all seems so silly to most people, but I mean he's made plans for all of us in the event of an apocalypse…"

Missy nodded, smiling wryly. "I'm to evacuate to a field ten minutes from my house, where an aircraft will be waiting to pick me up. Apparently, Shelly made some valuable friends in the Defence Department when he was doing some code-breaking for them."

Penny shook her head, and Missy wondered whether she was listening at all. She seemed so lost in the thought of Sheldon, frustrated that she couldn't sum him up adequately – seemingly forgetting that Missy had known him her entire life.

"He's _loyal_. He never ratted out Leonard for what he did in the Arctic. But he's insufferable too, you know? We _fight_. And I have to tell you, I never feel more alive than when I'm fighting with him. Even when he steals my panties - " Missy raised an eyebrow, taking note for future sibling teasing. "The fact is that I like it. I like who I am when someone as smart as Sheldon is dedicating his whole attention to a prank war with me. I like that I'm the only one who can touch his food and calm him down and sing 'Soft Kitty' to him. I like that he makes me want to be better, to know more rather than drink more. And if I lost him, I'm scared I'd lose me too. Does any of that make sense?"

"Of course it does," Missy smiled gently at her. "Shelly's special. We all know it. But, Penny. It's a risk. You know that."

"I know," she said, feeling her eyes prickle with tears. Surely she'd run out of tears eventually. "I know that I'm risking everything. But, the way it feels when he kisses me back…I'm sorry, I know he's your brother and you probably don't want to know. But, I've never felt like this before. The moment I opened my eyes to it, I couldn't close 'em again, you know? I want to see where it leads. And even if it doesn't work out, or we never even get going, I just want him to know that…well no one on this planet has made me half the person I am when I'm with him.[4]"

Penny realized suddenly that Missy was staring at her incredulously. She was suddenly embarrassed by her gushing, embarrassed that she had confided in a woman who she really scarcely knew. She hoped that Missy would simply forget about it – would agree never to speak of it. But, when Missy shook her head, she realized that Sheldon's sister was simply overwhelmed.

"Well," Missy said slowly. "I've been waiting thirty years to hear someone say that about me."

"You won't say anything to him?" Penny asked worriedly.

"Of course not. But, honey, I think you should tell him all that."

Penny snorted. "Yeah, I'd love to see the Sheldon shaped outline when he ran for the hills."

"When it's right," Missy said confidently. "When you're ready – trust me, running will be the last thing on his mind. For what it's worthy, I've never seen him act the way he's acting around anyone." Missy frowned suddenly, the levity of the last few minutes giving way to the grief that always waited around the corner. "You should go talk to him. Meemaw means the world to him. I suppose I should be joining Momma at church."

Penny nodded and gently removed her friend from her shoulder, offering her a genuine smile as she hurried up the stairs to Sheldon's bedroom.

She envied them, really. She envied Mary and Missy. Envied their faith, envied the way that faith united them in a way that people like Penny couldn't understand. She had always been the sort of person who understood beginnings and endings. She didn't understand how people could live this way, facing endings was hard enough, without thinking that the story went on past the ending.

She climbed the stairs to Sheldon's bedroom, wondering what she could say to him that would lessen the pain he was experiencing. She didn't know death – not this sort of death. Not the death that leaves a hole in the universe.

When Kurt's grandfather had died he had gotten drunk. He had drunk himself into oblivion before returning home to drag her to the same place. They closed the bedroom door and didn't emerge for days. It was not sexy; it was sad. And she had known that he was burying his knowledge that his grandfather had been a mean drunk who hadn't liked him one bit. When they finally emerged from the solitude of their room, she had tried to wrap her arms around him and he had brushed her off.

But, Sheldon was not Kurt; he was complicated. He thought things that Penny could never understand. She fancied he might be trying to think of a way to simply bring MeeMaw back to life. (If there had been anyone who would be able to do it, she knew that Sheldon could).

The truth was that all she knew about death she had plucked from the pages of books or from movie screens.

_Now I am in the place I call this wide wide Heaven because it includes all my simplest desires but also the most humble and grand. The word my grandfather uses is comfort_.[5]

She couldn't recall where she'd read those words – although she felt that she must have read them rather than hearing them. She knew this because she heard them in her own voice, rather than the voice of someone else. She knew this because she felt as if the words had been inscribed on her bones.

She could sense that he was not in her bedroom. But, she entered anyway. She looked at the empty bed, remembering their kisses of the night before, remembering feeling him through his underpants, remembering how he quivered under her touch, remembering the way his arms had felt around her.

She climbed the short flight of stairs that led to the door of the attic, knocking lightly on the door.

_Knock, knock, knock, Sheldon_. _Knock, knock, knock, Sheldon_. _Knock, knock, knock, Sheldon_.

There was silence, but she opened the door anyway. She found him sitting in the corner of the room – which was filled beakers, test tubes and carefully labelled computer guts. Beams of light shone through the window, which had a seat underneath it. The rest was just books. On the low desk she saw that there was a book entitled _Guide to Nuclear Medicine_. She wondered idly whether this had anything to do with the infamous Snowball incident.

In the corner of the room, staring blankly out of the window, she found Sheldon with his knees clutched to his chest.

"Sweetie?"

He closed his eyes slightly at the sound of her voice. She realized suddenly that she hadn't seen him cry yet. He had been utterly silent and withdrawn since the hospital. She crouched down before him, her heart aching at the sight of him – all long legs and elegant wrist.

"Is there anything you need?" she asked gently. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

If he heard her request he gave no sign. She sat back on her heels, wishing suddenly that she knew what to say – or even that he had been the sort of person who would use her to make himself feel better. But, that was not who he was. He was the sort of person who hid away from everyone. His head rolled slightly against the wall, so that he was looking away from her, staring at a blank wall. She watched the muscles in his cheek twitch.

"You know, sweetie, sometimes talking about how bad we feel can actually make us feel better."

"That seems unlikely," he said softly.

Heartened by the fact he'd spoken at all, Penny reached out to touch his cheek, but he pulled away before she could make contact. She swallowed the painful feeling in her chest and let her hand rest on her knee.

"We don't have to talk," she said, gently. "I can just sit with you here."

"I'd prefer to be alone."

"Okay," she said, her throat tightening. "But I'll be just outside the door if you feel like talking or if you need something. I'm not leaving."

His eyes slid shut again. So, she stood up, feeling a crashing disappointment that she had not been able to reach him. She didn't want to push him, she didn't want to bully him into talking to her. She wanted him to come to her in his own time. She paused at the door to the attic.

"I just want to make sure you let it out, that you don't keep it locked inside that big brain of yours."

Sheldon heard the echo of his grandmother's own words in Penny's and drew in a sharp breath. Struggling to master his feelings, he closed his eyes once more, losing himself in the swagger of galaxies, forgetting those miniscule moments of human life that can cause such unimaginable pain.

Pain that perhaps could have been avoided if only he'd heeded his grandmother's letter.

"Penny," he said suddenly, without opening his eyes. "Please inform George that we ought to contact the hospital and Meemaw's general practitioner for all her medical records."

"Sheldon," she said doubtfully. "Are you sure that you want to - "

"Please."

Penny's heart ached at his soft, pleading voice – she felt keenly the pain radiating from his body and could almost hear the turmoil of his brilliant mind.

"Okay," she said sadly. "I'll be just outside this door."

But he didn't seem to hear her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>26 November 2009, 4.00pm<strong>_

_**Apartment 3D, "The Raj Mahal"**_

He'd actually forgotten that it was Thanksgiving until he received a text message from Leonard, who was spending the day with his brother. Michael was an extraordinarily pompous man, deeply analytical. For the last few months, he had been a visiting professor at Berkeley, but to Raj's knowledge Leonard had been keeping a wide berth.

Last year, the five of them had spent Thanksgiving together. Penny had cooked a truly dreadful roast. Sheldon had been close to meltdown – standing toe-to-toe with Penny in the kitchen, demanding that they abandon this madness, order pizza and play Halo.

"_Great suggestion. Or maybe I should hog-tie you and force feed you the turkey."_

"_You might as well cut out the middle-man and feed me some enterobacteriaceae directly."_

"_Don't tempt me, Sheldon."_

Eager to avoid the discussion, Raj had flipped through cable channels and sipped his beer, until suddenly he had frozen.

"You guys," he had whispered.

Images of Mumbai in chaos filled the screen as gunmen unleashed mayhem in the city where so many of his relatives lived. Howard appeared, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder and frowning seriously.

A hush fell even in the kitchen as his friends turned to watch the attacks on Mumbai. Without sparing a thought for the ruined dinner, they had sat down on the couch.

"Oh my god," Penny gasped as the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus and Leopold Café fell to the terrorist attacks.

"Your uncle," Howard had said uncertainly. "He lives in Mumbai doesn't he?"

Leonard had petted Raj's knee. "You should call him."

"You may use our telephone if you wish to contact him," Sheldon said softly.

They had sat up all night – and the night after – trying to contact everyone he knew in Mumbai, skyping his family. No one Raj knew had been injured in the attacks, but even through his fear and worry he had been filled with warmth, convinced that in finding each other, they had created something special.

Now it was one year later and Raj found himself alone, filled with confusion, doubting who he was.

When the doorbell rang, he stared at it blankly for a while before answering.

Not for the first time, Raj wondered whether Howard really looked in the mirror before leaving the house. His green jacket did nothing to hide the fact that his orange shirt clashed horribly with his red pants. Nonetheless, Raj couldn't help but smile at the sight of Mrs Wolowitz's Tupperware. He knew that the eccentric Jewish women had carefully set aside half of the she brisket she had (oddly) prepared for Thanksgiving. Even though her strange racial comments sometimes befuddled him, he couldn't dispute that the woman knew her way around a beef brisket.

(He always mentally apologised to his vegetarian forebears before scarfing down the entire thing).

"What do you say to a little bit of Thanksgiving post-game?"

Howard stood at the door grinning, his other hand clutching a six-pack of beer. Even though he knew that Raj would never dream of turning him away, Howard couldn't help but feel slightly nervous. Things had been…_off_ between all of them recently. Every time they'd hung out, he'd found Raj preoccupied. He was determined to get to the bottom of what was going on – even if he had to get him drunk.

Raj stepped aside, gesturing for the couch while he hurried into the kitchen to find a bottle opener.

"You got away from Thanksgiving pretty early," Raj commented, handing Howard his Spiderman bottle opener.

"My mother doesn't do '_thanks_-giving' as much as '_guilt-_giving.' Apparently she won't have any reason to give thanks until her '_Howie gives her a grandchild_.' Until then, I'm a free man. So I say, no rush."

Raj grinned at him as they tapped beers. It felt so normal having Howard in his apartment, sitting down to watch the 'Firefly' marathon on the Sci-Fi channel. He could tell that Howard was tense after a long meal with his mother; Thanksgiving always brought out a particularly emotional side of Mrs Wolowitz.

Underneath all his bravado and mockery, Raj knew that Howard nursed significant fears about living up to his mother's image of him. Apparently she only became the suffocating, difficult-to-please Tiger mother when Howard's brother, Levi, had died. Levi had died of an aneurysm when he was thirteen while skiing with Howard. Their father hadn't found them for two hours. Howard had sat with his big brother the whole time, not wanting to leave him alone

It was not something Howard spoke of. Mrs Wolowitz had told Raj while looking at an old photo album during one of Howard's birthday dinners. Howard had twisted in his seat as his mother talked about her baby who had died. Raj had sat silently, even though he found that his selective mutism hadn't been present with older women. He'd hated the look on Howard's face, as if Raj had stolen a terrible secret from him. They hadn't spoken of it since.

They were deeply entranced by 'Firefly' – trading trivia and engaging in heated debate as to whether Howard would have a chance with Zoe Alleyne Washburne if he'd been aboard the _Serenity_ – when Raj's phone buzzed.

"It's Penny," he said, glancing at Howard. "Sheldon's grandmother died this morning."

Howard paused mid-sip, glancing at Raj's intent expression. He settled the beer on his jean-leg and fiddled with the label. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you?"

"Of course I am," he said in that incredulous voice that almost sounded like laughter unless you really knew Howard. Raj could tell that he'd hurt his friend's feelings and felt a swell of self-loathing that he had ruined their pleasant evening.

"I'm sorry dude," he said gently. "It's just that…sometimes I can't tell if you care about Sheldon at all."

"I _care_, okay?" Howard said, his voice throbbing with frustration. "I just care as much as someone who is treated the way Sheldon treats me _would _care. We hang out and we're friends…of a sort…but even you have to admit that he is an asshole with a side-serve of jerk when it comes to me."

"He's a jerk to everyone," Raj sighed.

"No," Howard retorted. "He's condescending and arrogant to everyone. But, with Leonard and you…he's almost pleasant at times. Then, he turns around and looks at me..."

"With thinly veiled contempt?" Raj offered helpfully.

"I'd be grateful if it were veiled at all," Howard muttered darkly. "I'm not saying he's a bad guy. I'm not saying he deserved what we did to him at the Arctic. I'm hardly excited by the fact that when he writes his memoirs I'm going to be the villain – if he even mentions me. But, I can't just walk around pretending that Sheldon being mad at me is the worst thing that ever happened to me." Howard paused, glancing at his beer, which was now label free. "That sucks about his grandma, though. I know how much she meant to him."

Raj stared glumly the TV, watching the figures that flickered on the screen. "I just feel so guilty, you know? He didn't hesitate to give me a job. After what we did to him he would be within his rights to torture me. Okay, well he does torture me, but just the regular amount."

Howard looked at Raj bashfully. "That's one thing I'll always owe the guy."

"What?"

"He made sure my best friend didn't get shipped off to India," Howard smiled, nudging Raj with his knee.

For a moment, Raj was absolutely still, processing what Howard had said. A part of him was thrilled beyond all comprehension by his friend's kind words. But a bigger part of him was consumed by the overwhelming desire to confess the thoughts that had been eating him for months. He'd hidden the truth so deeply inside of himself that he'd fancied he might never say it aloud. But, now he knew that he couldn't keep the secret a moment longer.

"Howard," he said seriously, putting the television on mute. "There's something I have to tell you."

* * *

><p><em><strong>26 November 2009, 11.00pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

Penny sat at the base of the ladder, her knees pressed to her chest, one hand covering her eyes.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

She knew that she should have looked up into George Jr's face, but she couldn't find the energy. There was something deeply exhausting about being here – about knowing that just behind the door Sheldon was in turmoil and there was nothing she could do.

"I don't know what time it is," Penny said, her eyes still pressed into her knees.

George nodded, sitting on the step next to her. He didn't ask her any more questions and for that she was glad.

"You were great in the hospital," she muttered, moving her head slightly so she could glance at her. "That must have been hard."

He chuckled without mirth. "It was nice to feel useful. I haven't felt that in a long time."

"Missy mentioned that you'd had…problems."

"I'm a drunk, honey. I don't hide from that anymore."

Penny watched his serious face, noticed the way his hair curled slightly at the base of his neck. Penny wondered what Sheldon would look like with a tan, but then immediately dismissed the thought. She liked his pale skin, she liked the way it looked when the moon touched it. It made him look like he was part of the night sky. The Cooper Constellation she thought with a slight smile.

"I wish my brother would stop hiding his problems," she said sadly.

"We can only hide for so long. They always find us in the end. You just have to hope that you're in one piece when it happens." He paused contemplatively, looking at his hands. "Meemaw dried me out, you know? When I was too ashamed to come home and face Momma, I went to Meemaw's house. I hadn't had a drink in a couple of days and I was shaking and sweating and there was nothing left in my stomach to throw-up. I dragged myself to her doorstep."

"What did she say?"

He smiled wistfully at the recollection

"_George Jr. seeing you in this state makes me more ashamed than I can remember being in my life. But, my door is never closed to you and I am as proud as hell of you for asking for help. So, you listen to me and you listen to me good. You're going to dry out right here in this house. You're going to do absolutely everything I tell you do. You are going apologise to every person you wronged. And then, we are going to open a blank page and you are going to write everything you want from life and we are going to go through the list and get you all of it."_

Penny chuckled. "I had no idea that Meemaw was such a badass."

"And how," George agreed. "She even pulled my grandpa's shotgun out when I was half-crazy and tried to do a runner. She took me to AA meetings and sat outside in her car waiting for me. When I finally came back to this house she was right there and told me to keep my head up because I'd done something great."

"I would have loved to meet her," Penny whispered, surprised by the strength of her reaction, the tightness in her throat.

George whistled tunelessly. "She would have _loved_ to meet you – to meet the first girl Shelly ever brought home. I think that shotgun would have come out again."

Penny visibly paled.

"Oh don't get me wrong," George said reassuringly. "She would have been wild about you. She liked strong ladies. Ladies like her."

"Like your mom."

"In her own way, yeah," George said after a slight pause. "She never put much stock in religion, though. But you are just Meemaw's cup of tea."

Penny sighed, glancing at the door. "I wish I knew what to say to him."

"You know Shelly. You'll figure it out."

"I hope so."

George smiled and stood up. It was then that Penny noticed that he was wearing pyjama pants with little dogs on them. For some reason, it struck her with alarming force how completely and unquestioningly the Coopers – at least, Sheldon's siblings - had accepted her into their house and into their mourning.

"George," Penny called softly.

"Yeah?" George asked, pausing on the stairs.

"If you think I'm overstaying my welcome or if I'm in the way at all, you've gotta be straight with me, okay?"

"You don't know me," he said, his face softening. "I'd be the first to tell you if you were in the way. But as long as you care about Shelly you've got a place in this house. Trust me, even if I _am_ a drunk."

Penny nodded to herself as he walked down the stairs.

"Okay," she whispered to herself before standing up and lightly knocking on the door to the Sheldon's latest fortress of solitude.

"Sheldon," she said gently. "I'm coming in, okay?"

She took his lack of response as a good sign. To her surprise, he'd moved from the corner of the room to the beautiful bay window with the long, cushioned seat underneath it. He sat with his knees pulled up, although the seat would have been long enough for him to stretch out if he had needed. She thought about what Missy had told her, about how Meemaw had gained access to his private thoughts. Stepping into the moonlight, she stood over him at the window.

"Do you remember the other night when we were watching _Star Trek?_"

"I remember everything," he said in that same sad tone he had used since they arrived back in the house.

"Of course you do," she said, her quavering slightly. "Well you remember when Vulcan's destroyed and Spock and Uhura talk in the elevator."

"That movie was such hokum."

"Yeah," Penny chuckled in spite of herself. "You made your views pretty clear on that. But, all I want to say about it is…" she paused, suddenly grateful for her multiple re-viewings of the scene on YouTube. "I am _more _than sorry for what you're going through. Please, tell me what you need from me."

"What I'm going through," he said, drawing in a ragged breath, "is entirely my fault."

Penny drew in a sharp breath, before kneeling down so that she could look him in the face. She reached out to touch his cheek, tracing the sharp edges of his cheekbones. "Nothing that's happened today is your fault."

"I should have…"

"No," she interrupted, pulling his forehead down to touch her own. "There was nothing you could do. What happened is a horrible tragedy, but you couldn't have stopped it."

She closed her eyes, wishing that she could infuse her strength into him, wishing that she could take his pain into her.

"It's not your fault," she whispered to him, kneeling beneath him. "It's not your fault."

She said it over and over, until to her surprise, she felt a peculiar sort of moisture on her cheeks. She pulled back to find his beautiful blue eyes full of tears. She had never seen anything like it. The sight of Sheldon crying was like a kick to the stomach. She would have given anything to make him feel better. She climbed to her feet and moved the pillow behind his back so that he was leaning on her. She pulled him closer, until they were almost lying down together on the seat.

Sheldon couldn't seem to stop the tears, despite his best efforts. He wiped furiously at his eyes.

"I apologise for this display," he said, wiping at his eyes. "I should - "

"No," she said firmly, tightening her arms around him. "Don't you dare apologise."

"Alright."

She let his tears fall onto her chest, she stroked his forehead and sang him lines from 'Soft Kitty.' She said '_I'm so sorry_' over and over, until she couldn't tell whether she was saying the words at all. She wasn't sure how long they lay there in the attic. She wasn't sure how many times she kissed his face – tasting his tears in her mouth and cherishing each one.

But, one thing she remembered with absolute clarity was when he looked up at her face and said '_Please don't leave me.'_

"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

She was still saying it when they both fell asleep.

* * *

><p>[1] Based on Arundhati Roy, <em>The God of Small Things<em>.

[2] Based on Jeanette Winterson, _Written on the Body_.

[3] 'The Day the Earth Stood Still'.

[4] Last sentence is based on 'Chasing Amy'.

[5] Alice Sebold, _The Lovely Bones_.

**A/N: Phew, long chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. The next chapter could be considered a "Part 2". As always, I greatly appreciate your reviews. They make me write faster!**

**To those Lightness & Weight and Between the Shadow and the Soul fans who have been PM-ing me and putting reviews in this story - please don't think I'm ignoring you. I'm feeling exceedingly uninspired by my GG fics at the moment. I feel terrible about leaving you guys in the lurch, so I promise I'll try to get re-inspired as soon as possible! In the interim, I hope you're enjoying "The Elegant Universe"!**


	11. Chapter 11: We Live In Time

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Eleven: We Live in Time**

_We live in time - it holds us and molds us - but I never felt I understood it very well. And I'm not referring to theories about how it bends and doubles back, or may exist elsewhere in parallel versions. No, I mean ordinary, everyday time, which clocks and watches assure us passes regularly: tick-tock, click-clock. Is there anything more plausible than a second hand? And yet it takes only the smallest pleasure or pain to teach us time's malleability. Some emotions speed it up, others slow it down; occasionally, it seems to go missing - until the eventual point when it really does go missing, never to return._

Julian Barnes, _The Sense of an Ending_

* * *

><p><em><strong>7 March, 1990, 5.01pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

She tells him to mind his daddy and he fights the urge to bury his face in her skirt.

"Come on," George says impatiently, edging towards his pick-up truck.

Mary pulls his little fists from her long skirt and smooths his hair over his forehead. He is wearing a suit – because that's what gentlemen wear when they receive awards. He finds the fuss foolish; it is not a particularly impressive prize. It is no more than a convocation medal from his high school. He has already won greater prizes – and next year he would be studying at the University of Texas.

But, in this moment, he finds his heart racing and his neck sweating at the point where his tie presses on his skin. He is strangely sad that his mother will not be at the ceremony. He knows that in order to remain solvent, the primary breadwinners of the family are occasionally required to work outside normal hours – to reap the benefits of higher wages. He knows that this is a reality. But, he also knows that his tie is too tight and his father hates that he has to drive him to the ceremony. Usually there is a reception for the convocation medal winner after the yearly award ceremony, but he is ten years old – no one wants to make small talk with him. No one asks about his future because they all know that his future lies ahead of a cloud of dust he will leave in his wake.

"Mind your father, Shelly," his mother says, pushing him towards the truck.

His father is moments away from pulling out of the driveway – with our without his son. Sheldon scurries towards the truck, not wanting his father to leave without him.

He has to get his medal, tonight. It was the protocol when one was awarded this sort of honour – as negligible as it was. He and his mother spent a long time talking about protocols, mapping the difficult social terrain so that he was never completely lost. His Meemaw didn't care much for protocols. She would have taken him to get his medal – and he would have preferred it – but for some reason his mother hadn't told her about it. Perhaps it is some sort of paternal right of passage. There is no way for either of them to know; George Jr. never prepared them for how to deal with academic achievement.

His father winds down the window, lighting up a cigarette with one hand. Sheldon watches the deep red of the car's lighter, the way his father's large, blunt hands become oddly graceful as they press the cigarette to his lips and let a small trail of ash fall out of the car window.

"Smoking," he feels his mouth moving against his will. He tries with all his might to stop the words from leaving his mouth. But he tells the truth. He always tells the truth. "Causes more than 5 million deaths per year worldwide."

For a moment, his father looks at the cigarette and glances at him. Their eyes meet, and for an instant he knows that his father is thinking about acts of grand, shocking violence. He knows that for an instant, his father thinks about using the cigarette to hurt him.

As fast as it comes, the moment fades. Sheldon doesn't know why his father's hands are shaking. He doesn't know what makes him drop the cigarette out the window. He has felt his father's hand strike him, but he knows that for an instant George was genuinely scared of what he was capable of.

"I'm getting my prize today."

He says it because he always tells the truth.

"I've gotta make a stop first."

"They're expecting us at 5.30."

"I've gotta make a stop," George says, his voice cracking with a rage that surprises both of them. His father doesn't usually feel rage – at least not a rage that is so easily identified that way.

Sheldon watches the clock as the minutes tick away and he thinks about how artificial it is – the construction of time. But, in fifteen minutes they will be late.

They are in a familiar place. He has been here before, with his mother, when they were looking for his father. But, now rain is starting to fall from clouds that look increasingly threatening, hanging low in the evening sky. The sign reads simply BAR, with lights flashing around it: reds, oranges and greens. They remind him of Christmas lights and he feels a familiar lurch at the thought of the festive season. Or of traffic lights.

"Wait in the car," his father says gruffly, his hands shaking.

"But I have to get my award in ten minutes," he says anxiously. "We will not make it to the school in ten minutes."

"We'll make it."

He doesn't understand why his members of his family insist upon challenging certainties. "We will _not_ make it to the school in ten minutes."

"Stay in the car," his father repeats, slamming the door behind him and hurrying through the dark door of the bar.

Minutes tick by. They are late. Sheldon sits perfectly still in the front seat of the pick-up. Then, more minutes tick by and he realizes that he will not be accepting his award tonight.

But time passes, until an hour passes – and his father is still in the bar. He watches the clock read 18:45, even though the top of the five is missing. Then, very carefully, he opens the door to the truck and slides out.

He walks to the pay phone, wondering whether his mother would mind if he took his tie off. He doesn't need to look like a gentleman anymore.

For a while, he stares at the phone, imagining how many men like his father had picked up the handset and slurred instructions to their wives. He imagines their hot breath, until it feels like his father's breath is on his face. He pulls his sleeve over his hand and picks up the handset. He puts 35 cents into the phone – his mother had told him to ask his father to buy him an ice cream after the ceremony.

He doesn't think about it; he just dials her number.

"Hello, Evelyn speaking?"

"Meemaw?"

She will be there in 20 minutes. He is not to get back into the car with his father but he is to stay where it is light.

When she arrives, she bends down to his level, with her hands on his shoulders. He tells her about missing the ceremony and she presses her forehead against his.

"Moonpie," she says gently. "I want you to wait for me just a little bit longer."

He looks around the dark car park. There is a man leaning on the hood of his car, watching them speak. The corners of the lot are almost invisible in this light.

"But this is a car park. I'm not supposed to wait in a car park."

"No your not," his Meemaw agreed. "But I have to go in there and find your daddy. So I need you to stand out here like a big boy. I don't want you to move at all. I just want you to stand there and sing 'Soft Kitty' to yourself."

"But 'Soft Kitty' is for when I'm sick."

"That's your momma's rule. I say 'Soft Kitty' is for whenever time you need it."

"Alright."

"Alright," she says, standing up to her full height, squares her shoulders and marches into the bar, her low heels making a steady click-click-click on the pavement.

Sheldon watches them – Meemaw and his father – standing under the sign that reads BAR. She pokes him in the chest, her face twisted and unfamiliar. George takes his cap off and spits at his feet.

He turns to walk away, before throwing an accusing glance at Sheldon.

"Shelly," his father calls. "Get in the damn car."

He stands absolutely still, watching his Meemaw chase after his father and attempt to take his keys. He holds them out of reach as Meemaw strains to take them from his hand. Even with his hearing, Sheldon can only hear ever third word.

_Drunk as a skunk – kill yourself – your business, but – taking Sheldon. – Circumstances is he – into that car._

"Fine, you take him. Take him for good for all I care, you old bi- "

"I _strongly_ advise you not finish that sentence George Cooper."

His father cannot hold her stare. He turns on his heels and climbs into the pick-up, taking two tries to clamber into the driver's seat. Meemaw turns on her heels and hurries back to Sheldon. He looks at her, warm and familiar and carrying the smell of freshly cut grass with her. She stands before him, looking into his face with a look of perfect regret in her eyes before clutching his hand with a ferocity that nearly makes him wince.

"I'm taking you home, Moonpie."

He wants to ask her to take them to her house, which has a room that she always calls his. But, before he can form the words there is a terrible sound of screeching and honking - and the sudden impact of glass hitting the ground.

Everything is violent, chaotic. Someone calls 911.

He looks up at his grandmother's inscrutable face. Her hand, which holds his own, is shaking slightly. But, when she walks, she takes a step backwards, edging away from the sight of his father's pick-up truck. He looks up at her, and for a moment, he knows without a doubt that she is considering walking away. For a moment, she considers picking up and leaving with him, without waiting to check whether his father is alright.

Just for a moment, she considers leaving the carpark, perhaps even Galveston altogether.

He knows what she is thinking. Not because he is particularly good at recognising what people are thinking, but because he is thinking the same thing. Just for a moment, he considers pulling on his grandmother's hand and telling her everything – telling her of those small, intolerable cruelties that only he seemed to suffer at his father's hands.

"Meemaw," he says, uncertain of what he wants to say. But, at that moment, the door of the pick-up opens and George tumbles out into the asphalt at his feet.

His Meemaw takes in a deep, shuddering breath, before straightening the collar of her blouse. Then, she stoops to Sheldon's height.

"Moonpie," she says gently, looking into his eyes. "I want you to stay right here while I check on your daddy, okay?"

He nods silently and his grandmother reaches out to touch his cheek. He watches his grandmother walking away from him.

_Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur._

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 2009, 3.07am<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

When Sheldon woke up - drenched, sweating, uncertain of where he was – his first thought was crushing realization that even sleep was lost to him.

For a moment, everything was blurred, only basic shapes were visible. Then, the shapes come into focus. The night sky outside is grey and cloudy. He cannot see the stars, cannot see anything through the strange ache that has settled in his chest. He was still in His Spot by the window in the attic and that he was still lying in Penny's arms.

His Meemaw was still dead.

He swallowed the wave of grief that washed over him suddenly. He pressed it down with the knowledge that he could have averted this. If only he hadn't been ignoring her letters, if only he had read between the lines and noticed that Meemaw – who never admitted to being ill – had confessed that she was feeling poorly, there might have been something that he could have done.

_It's not your fault._

He looked at Penny. She was only half-asleep. He knew what she looked like when she was sleeping. It was a strange sort of knowledge that he'd never been particularly interested in acquiring. But, he knew it anyway.

When she was in deep REM sleep, she made noise, she was energetic and moved around. In his less charitable moments, when he had stood over her bed to wake her for an emergency drill, he had described her as flopping about like a fish on a deck. On hearing this assessment, her eyes would narrow and she would speak in that voice that was half-fury, half-amusement. He was often on the receiving end of that voice.

She was still here, but she was dozing at best – and he knew on some instinct that it was because of him. She refused to allow herself to fall deeply asleep because she was worried that he would need her. Even sleeping, he could see marks of exhaustion under her eyes. In the dark night, with clouds blotting out the moon, he could see that she was becoming frayed, that she carried her worry on her chest and that it was weighing down on her.

A strange sort of ache formed in his chest – next to the hole in his chest that belonged to his grandmother – when he looked at her.

He had never been particularly good at identifying feelings that came in bundles. He understood anger. He understood frustration. He understood contentment. After the events of the last few months, he had a grasp of desperation. He suspected that he was experiencing the first jags of grief at this very moment. But, it was those complicated emotions that confused him.

He tried to hold onto the way he felt, to analyse the feelings that he fancied might burst out of him at any moment. He tried to separate the feelings, as if performing an intricate surgery – perhaps on a spinal cord. He tried to unpick his feelings of grief from his feelings of guilt, so that he could isolate what was left over. Because he couldn't understand how you could _feel_ something if you couldn't name it.

But, in the vast encyclopaedic knowledge he held on his shoulders, he could only remember feeling this way once before. It had been when he first thought about the way the universe might end. He'd felt something _like_ this lancing pain in his chest that wasn't really pain at allwhen he thought about the way that the stars would slow down before beginning to fall towards the centre of the universe again. While the thought of everything on earth – every trace of himself and the people he cared about – disappearing was devastating, there had been a moment when he'd considered that, just before the end, there would be no darkness, just the blazing light of billions and billions of stars, all falling.[1]

The way he had felt the moment – like all that devastation might be worth it for one moment of unimaginable beauty – was the closest he could come to describing how he felt when he looked at her looking so serious about taking care of him, even while she slept.

But he didn't know what the name of the feeling was. He didn't know why it had come upon him so suddenly, now at the moment when he should have been concerned with pure science – or why he felt it so acutely now, when he owed his Meemaw all of his attention. It was tempting to blame her. She had always done this to him, she had always loved throwing him into a tailspin. But at that moment it was impossible

_Penny._

Her eyes opened the moment he thought her name, and he wondered for an instant whether he had said it out loud. She seemed not to experience any of the dislocation or confusion that had plagued him when he awoke. She looked at him without any surprise, as if she had been dreaming exactly what was happening in the waking world.

"How are you sweetie?"

"I'm sweaty," he said after a brief pause. It seemed safer to limit their discussion to things he knew for certain. "I should be in my pyjamas."

She ran a hand over his forehead. "Do you want to have a shower or go to your room or something?"

He peered over at her, examining her face by the light of the streetlights outside. She had been cradling him when they fell into their fitful sleep. While they were lying now, their position had created the illusion that she was taller than him. He could have pressed his face into the space where he neck met her face.

"No," he said, finally. It was almost as if he was whispering, his voice was so soft and uninflected.

She bit her lip. She was not used to Sheldon expressing discomfort and not making any move to remedy it. "What do you need?"

Her question seemed to confound him. She wondered whether he was actually taking stock of his physical and emotional wellbeing so that he could give her an accurate answer. But too soon, he was shaking his head as if the variables were too many to properly weigh up.

"I don't know."

He looked at her with so much vulnerability, so much need in his eyes that she felt he was asking her for an answer. She was so filled with sorrow for him, so perfectly attuned to his grief that she fancied that she could feel the way he felt in that moment. She pressed her hand to his heart, felt it beating and then speeding up under her touch. He looked at her with his wide blue eyes, sharing her surprise at his reaction to the feeling of her palm flat on his chest. Her other hand – the one wrapped around his waist – began moving, without her even seeming to control it. It brushed against his green lantern t-shirt, it ghosted under the shirt to touch the skin of his stomach.

She was scarcely touching his waist, but his breathing became ragged at the sensation. She drew a circle on his stomach, just above the waistband of his jeans and felt the effects of her touch in his heartbeat. His eyes, though. His eyes never left her face.

She couldn't quite tell if she was doing the right thing, if this was what he needed from her. But, all she knew was that a few minutes ago it seemed as if he were hardly alive, and now his skin was electrified and his heart was pounding.

She adjusted herself, wriggling down so that her lips could reach his stomach. She peppered his skin with kisses. He sucked in a sharp breath, through his teeth at the sensation. This is what Penny knew. This is what she was good at.

"I can make you feel better," she whispered against his skin. "Let me make you feel better."

(_Maybe I shouldn't feel better.)_

She kissed his stomach again before lifting her body of his, supporting her weight on her hands on either side of him. When she reached his face she kissed him once on the corner of his mouth. His eyes were closed, but whether he was trying to ignore what was happening or concentrate more perfectly upon it, she couldn't be sure.

She kissed him on the mouth while he lay stone still beneath her. She kissed him again, feeling a thrill of victory when he started to kiss her back. She balanced her weight on one elbow and let her body press against him.

"I can make you feel better," she whispered again, almost desperately, between kisses.

He opened his eyes, turned his face to look at her again. She fancied that he might say something, but all his words seemed to disappear. She ran her hand down his stomach, pausing at his fly. He frowned slightly, but she kissed him again, slowly unbuttoning his jeans and lowering his zipper.

Remembering his panic of last night, she lifted her hands again, running them up and down his chest, exposing more and more of his skin. She pulled his t-shirt over his head while he lay beneath her, still watching her face as if trying to figure out what was happening in her mind.

He lifted his head to allow her to take off his t-shirt. She folded it neatly and balanced it on the windowsill before pulling her dress over her head, exposing herself down to a pair of blue lacy panties. She straddled him, almost entirely naked and felt a swell of foolish pride at the way his eyes widened as he took in the sight of her. There was something reverent about his expression. He looked at each part of her body, cataloguing it, burning the way she looked into his brain.

"Penny…you're..." But he seemed utterly lost for words. He shook his head, mutely and she bent down and captured his lips in a searing kiss.

There was a strange sort of desperation to her movements as she touched his skin. She was, as always, elated by the fact he let her see him like this, that he didn't run away or flinch. But, she felt a strange burning in throat, a strange sense of foreboding that if this didn't work - if she couldn't use her body to draw him out of his sadness - then she had nothing to offer him. She bent down to hide her face, worried that he might realize that she had no place here if he looked at her directly.

"You don't have to say anything," she whispered into his ear, before blowing cool air on the place she had just kissed. She smiled into his neck when she felt him shiver. "You don't have to do anything." She reached down, rubbing his stomach, wondering whether this time he would let her wrap her hand around him, whether she could take him into her mouth and help him forget the wretched day they had spent in the hospital. "Let me do this for you."

But, before her hand could slip once more into his pants, he clasped her hand. She looked up in surprise as he lifted himself up into a seated position, carrying her with him on his lap. There was a strange light of comprehension in his eyes, as he looked her in the face. She might have been overwhelmed by his gaze if it hadn't been for the fact that he was still holding her hand.

"You propose to do this for me as a gift?" he spoke in a low, serious voice, his thumb rubbing the inside of her palm.

"I'm doing this because I want to," she looked down before meeting his eyes once more. "I want to help you forget…"

"Penny," he said, gently. "I've never forgotten anything in my life."

She scarcely noticed that she was crying until he reached out and caught one of her tears. "I've upset you," he said, staring at his fingertip that glittered with her sorrow.

"No, _no,_" she said fiercely, burying her head in his chest, enjoying the feeling of his sparse chest hair on her cheek. "I just want to help you so badly. I just…I don't know what to do."

"It is not necessary for you to offer coitus to lift my spirits."

Penny flushed red at the matter-of-fact way he put that. "That is _not_ what I was - "

"Penny," he interrupted gently. "Your being here is enough."

No man (or woman for that matter) had ever said anything like that to her before. The fact that it was Sheldon, that it would have been impossible for him to lie, only made the moment purer. She looked away for a moment, out the window. The clouds allowed only a patch of moon to shine through, but its light was strong enough to illuminate the world outside and to give Sheldon that ghostly, ethereal appearance that she loved. She ran a hand over his chest, but this time it wasn't a desperate attempt to offer herself up to him.

"You really are something else," she said, before lying down on his chest, skin-to-skin with him. "I hate that this has happened to you."

"There, there," he said, uncertainly, patting her back while her tears pooled on his chest. For a moment, he paused, listening to her cry for him, feeling that same lancing pain-that-wasn't-pain in his chest. He bit his lip before wrapping his arms around her in earnest. He felt her bare skin, felt her breasts pushed to his chest, felt the entire weight of her lying on him.

"It is difficult to breath with you on my chest," he said finally.

She chuckled slightly, lifting her head from his chest and giving him a watery smile. "I can move if you want."

"No," he said after a brief pause. "I do not want that."

She sighed and lay her head back down on his chest, marvelling at the strangeness of it. Her entire body could feel him – the soft skin of his bare chest, the crinkle of chest hair, the rougher material of his jeans, still partially undone. She wore only her underwear, but couldn't for the life of her find it in her to move an inch.

She fell asleep where she lay – her last conscious thought that she sincerely hoped she didn't drool on him while she slept. That would probably still be a strike.

When her breathing evened out, Sheldon sighed slightly. He was glad that she was resting, glad that she was here in his arms. The simplicity of these emotions pleased him, even though he knew that it would be impossible for him to sleep with her so completely in his personal space – not to mention that he found himself overstimulated by her lack of clothing. The cool night air pressed against his exposed skin, but he found himself more concerned with Penny's warmth. He lifted on of his legs, trying to wrap around her exposed body, but found that it was quite hopeless. He was completely debilitated, with his arms full of Penny.

In a brief moment of lunacy, he wondered whether he could forego sleep again tomorrow night – just to sleep exactly like this. Once again, he felt a wave of guilt that he was concerned about such things when tomorrow they would have to buy Meemaw a coffin.

It was so strange, the way that people entered and exited each other's lives. Sheldon was so sceptical of arrivals that he lacked any experience with departures. It occurred to him that his small, select social and family circle might make him uniquely vulnerable to the vicissitudes of life – how the exit of one cherished friend or family member would cause such a large gap in his life. He had always concerned himself to live with one foot in the galaxy, considering the greatest questions of the universe.

He had thought of Missy's life in Galveston as rather small and uneventful. But she had always been gregarious, was always surrounded with people. She had once strapped on a backpack for three months – much to their mother's consternation – and travelled to South America using the tips she had earned working as a waitress. She considered people friends who she had met only once at a party in Argentina. They had departed her life easily, without fight, with no more than a "thanks for the good times."

It occurred to him, suddenly, that his own life – his day-to-day life – was actually surprisingly small.

Sheldon knew that brilliant scientists considered him a peer, a colleague – scientists and physicists like Dr Elizabeth Plimpton and Dr Stephen Hawking. But, he had only a handful of friends, really – and none like Penny.

A thought came upon him so suddenly that it almost winded him. It was like a great dark patch of black ice on the road.[2] He could lose her. Even if she didn't leave him by choice. He could still lose her. The way he had Meemaw. And a Penny-shaped hole in the universe, is not one he could fill.

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 2009, 10.30am<strong>_

_**Starbucks, Pasadena**_

Leonard was oddly nervous, sitting in the Starbucks nearest Caltech. It was populated by a visibly brainy crowd – many toting thick text books and bright notepads. Leonard had chosen this place because he knew it well. He didn't like surprises in these situations.

Even though he knew that this was a pro forma first date with Amy Farrah-Fowler – one designed to introduce her to the concept of Sheldon Cooper and to assess her suitability for him – he felt inordinately nervous. He was not good at first dates. Even fake ones.

The door of the coffee shop opened and in walked Amy Farrah-Fowler – identical to her profile picture in every way, down to her paisley shirt, cardigan and knee length skirt. As Leonard stood up it occurred to him that Amy would be looking for Sheldon in the crowd, although as she stood at the counter, her hands behind her back, she seemed utterly unconcerned by whether he was coming at all. That self-possession, the lack of social neuroses – it was something that he both admired and hated about Sheldon.

Leonard tried to paste on a smile as he approached her. She looked as if she would have stood there until closing. Even when he stood directly before her, her expression did not change at all. He noticed, idly, that her eyes were a grey sort of colour, clear and analytical.

"If I am obstructing your access to high-cholesterol baked goods then I can move out of your way."

"No," he said, smiling nervously. "I just…my name is Leonard Hofstadter."

She paused for a moment. "I do not believe I am acquainted with you. I'm going to have to stop conversing with you as I am meeting someone."

"Oh, yes – well that's, uh…what I wanted to talk to you about."

He waited for her to say something, but she was utterly silent. "I am a…friend of Sheldon Cooper's."

"I see," she said evenly. "So you have been given the unenviable task of telling me that Dr Cooper has made a run for it."

"What? Oh no, no. That's not…he's not even."

"Your tendency to stutter and equivocate makes it difficult to understand you."

For a moment, Leonard paused, adjusting his brown jacket over his hoodie. He was expecting Amy's words to sting, but he found to his surprise that he was almost amused. Throughout his adolescence, Leonard had been terrified of the words that people were saying behind his back. He realized that this would never be an issue with Amy Farrah-Fowler.

"I've heard that," he said with a smile. "The truth is that Sheldon doesn't know about this date. I made the profile for him because…well, I just wanted him to find someone he was suited to."

"My mother insisted that I make my profile to ensure that I was able to honour our agreement that I go on a date once per year."

"Well…yeah. Exactly. So I was thinking that we could sit down and have a coffee and talk about Sheldon. And maybe we could find a time for you to come around and…you know…meet him."

She cocked her head to the side. "Do you fulfil the role of ersatz mother to Sheldon Cooper?"

"I…well…no, I'm not his ersatz mother."

"Then why exactly do you care whether Dr Cooper finds an appropriate mate?"

"I, well…"

Staring into Amy's eyes, Leonard found himself lost for words. He could tell the truth, that he was jealous of the feelings he could see brewing between his ex-girlfriend and his roommate. But, he fancied that Amy would probably view that as a pathetic sort of reason. (And now that he was facing a real, live woman who he proposed to drive between Sheldon and Penny, he started to wonder whether it truly was a pathetic sort of reason).

Then there were those other reasons – the ones that he could scarcely acknowledge – about how it had felt to watch Sheldon become completely unspooled. How it had felt to realize that no matter how long Leonard had spent looking after him, it would always pale into comparison to the way that Leonard had betrayed him. He wondered if she could understand how it felt to be defined by one, monumental error of judgement.

Of course, there was the reason the Leonard least liked to acknowledge – the fact that Leonard had always felt better about himself when Sheldon existed as a tall streak of neurosis to him. Because if Sheldon became not only tall and brilliant, but also became someone capable of caring for another human being, then Leonard would have to re-evaluate everything. He had spent the last six years – or perhaps the last 29 years – defining himself according to the intricate social eco-system that surrounded him. To have that eco-system change forever…well it was unthinkable.

It was one thing to lose Penny to some meathead with pecs, but losing her to Sheldon would strike him more deeply. If he lost her to Sheldon – the smartest, oddest, geekiest of them all – then he couldn't blame it on those aspects of himself that made him cringe in public. He would have to blame it on something more fundamental than that. A part of himself that he was not yet willing to confront.

Amy was waiting patiently for his answer. He knew that if he said something superficial, she would see through it. No amount of _because he's my friend_, _I just want him to be happy_ would satisfy her. He'd read her profile, searched for her work through the Caltech library. To capture her interest, he would have to tell her something real.

"I did something really bad," Leonard said, surprising himself most of all. "Something…dishonourable. And it's changed everything. So now I'm _losing_ everything and I don't know how to make it stop."

He fancied that the entire coffee shop might have stopped talking and moving, but he knew that it was purely his imagination. His imagination and the way it felt to finally put it in words to someone who didn't know them, who didn't know anything about them. He felt a strange swell of panic that she might leave regardless. He stood there, feeling more exposed than he had ever felt before, showing for the first time the bare skin of his insecurities that he covered under his mask of _niceness_. He knew that she would see him for what he really was and would run away from him, from the entire situation.

But, as usual, he had underestimated the power of the truth.

"I trust that, in keeping with the classic date paradigm, you will be paying for our beverages today?"

He just nodded, feeling relief that was like a cool glass of water that filled him from head to toe.

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 2009, 11.00am<strong>_

_**Malloy and Son Funeral Home**_

Evelyn Adams, Sheldon's Meemaw, had not wanted to burden her family with organising a funeral. She had organised everything herself, from the location to the tombstone, leaving painstaking instructions with Malloy and Son Funeral Home. All that was left for the Coopers to organise was a casket, although Penny fancied that this might be the most horrible part of the process.

She glanced at Sheldon, as he stood in what seemed like a sea of coffins. His stiff posture served only to accentuate his grief. He looked strange and beautiful in the low, comforting light of the funeral parlour. She would have liked to stand by his side, but he had been cold and distant today.

She had awoken on his bare chest, the way she had fallen asleep. She felt giddy and well-rested, her stomach twisting at the strange excitement of waking up skin-to-skin with Sheldon. But, when she had peered up at his face, she had found that his eyes were open and he was staring out the window with a vacant, haunted expression on his face.

He was in his head – she knew how to recognise it. She reached out to press her hand to his cheek, but he had pulled away as if her touch burned him.

"_How did you sleep?"_ she whispered, trying not to be hurt at the way he cringed away from her.

"_I didn't sleep._"

Penny bit back the sting of his words, lifting herself up from his chest, freeing him from the weight of her body. She sat up, pulling the dress that lay on the floor over her head. She hated wearing day-old clothes, but she knew that walking around the Cooper household clad only in her knickers would be a sure-fire way of landing herself an exorcism at Mary's church. She glanced at Sheldon, who still stared out the window, contemplating the cool air of morning and the weak light that spoke of winter coming.

When she made to stand up, he grabbed her wrist. She looked down at him and he looked up at her. The pain of yesterday seemed to have magnified in the night. He looked at her with the eyes of someone who had lost something they could never hope to retrieve. But, more than that, he gave her the most conflicted look she had ever seen. He had looked at her, on the verge of saying something. But then, his face darkened and he let her wrist go.

"_You should go back to Pasedena,_" he said, finally.

"_I'm not going to leave you,_" she had responded, almost embarrassed by the fierceness of her voice. If it had been anyone other than Sheldon she would have been embarrassed. But, things between them had always been intense. Even their prank wars had been a fight to the death. It seemed almost natural to make statements about forever, because they were both stubborn enough to see it through to the end.

"_Sometimes that decision isn't always in our hands._"

She had still been sitting there, on the window seat where they had slept, when he stood up and walked out of the room.

He had been acting strangely all morning. He had insisted that she sit in the seat behind Mary when they clambered into his mother's four-wheel drive – the safest seat in the car. Missy had stared at him strangely when he had walked to the other passenger door. Penny knew from that look that this action must have overturned years of childhood habit. Penny found herself sitting in the seat that Sheldon judged to be the safest in the car. But, he had said less than three words to her since they had woken up.

Presently, he was engaged in a vigorous discussion with the funeral director. He seemed to view the selection of a coffin as an exact science.

_Of course he did._

She turned around to stare at the rack of brochures that was mounted to the wall of the 'showroom'. She ran a finger over the brochure entitled '_Will I befriend my feelings or will I deny, repress or inhibit them?_', flipping it open to read the quote from Alan D Wolfelt, PhD.

_I don't have to go in search of the pain of grief – it finds me. It's when I deny or insulate myself from the pain of the loss that I shut down. Ironically, it is in being open to the pain that I move through it to renewed living._

"Shelly seems off today," Missy said, appearing by Penny's side.

Penny didn't respond. She knew it was illogical, but she felt like her presence in Texas was justified only by the steady improvement of Sheldon's mood, as if his family might turn around and banish her if she couldn't pull him out of his grief. But, Missy's face was kind, if lined with worry.

"He said I should go back to Pasadena," she said, not wanting to hide his desires from his family, wanting to give them an out if they wanted her to leave.

"My brother has never known what's good for him."

It was embarrassing to find her eyes pricking with tears at that, when the Coopers were being so stoic in the face of choosing Meemaw's coffin.

"Maybe he _does_ know what's good for him," Penny said, her voice betraying her with its wavering. "Maybe it's the rest of us who don't know."

"Hang in there, darling. You just hang in there." Missy squeezed her arm, before pulling away to hurry to her mother's side.

She was alone again, in the corner of the room. Penny glanced over her shoulder, only to see Sheldon staring at her with those eyes that she fancied could read her thoughts. Their eyes met across a room full of death, and Penny had never felt more distant from him in her life. She felt foolishly exposed, isolated from the rest of them, holding a brochure full of silly quotes that wouldn't fool him for a moment.

With a strangely pained look on his face, Sheldon turned away from her.

She replayed the look in her mind, over and over. But, for the life of her she couldn't read any meaning into it, other than goodbye.

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 2009, 1.28pm<strong>_

_**Caltech **_

Raj hadn't known where to go, so he had gone to work. He found himself burying his head in his hands, unable to focus on the paper he had been writing.

He lifted his head, full of heavy thoughts, and looked out the window at the grey sky, the tree that grew outside the window, where a bird had been living for weeks. Sheldon had threatened to make a glove gun to take out the bird, which always seemed to sing when he stood by his whiteboard. But, more than once, Raj had seen him look out the window, smiling beatifically at the way the bird fussed over his nest.

Today the bird was gone. And Sheldon was in Texas mourning his beloved grandmother. And last night, he had told Howard the one secret he had never told anyone. Then, Howard – his best friend in the world – had stood up, stammering and uncertain. He had stood up and he had walked out of Raj's apartment.

He had no more secrets in his heart, but he felt more wretched than he ever had before. He had never felt more alone than he did right now, in someone else's office, living what felt like someone else's life.

It hurt like hell. He had convinced himself that the worst part was the waiting, was keeping the secret. He had convinced himself of that so perfectly, that the worst case scenarios he had spent hours going over had ceased to seem real to him. Until the moment that Howard walked out the door. Then, he had realized that there was one thing that was worse than what he had imagined: the moment when his worst fears came true.

But, there was a lightness in his chest. It was the sort of lightness that can only come at the end of a long struggle, at the moment of surrender. Telling Howard had felt like the end of his old life, but now he realised that life is a process of becoming, a combination of states that everyone has to go through.[3] The moment you stopped changing, you started dying. And Raj had been resisting this change for so long that it felt like death.

He was determined to live. Now, in _this _life.

No matter what the cost.

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 2009, 5.00pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

The women of Galveston had been marching up the driveway for what seemed like hours – a shining line of Galveston's most god-fearing mothers.

Penny watched them as they pulled over their station wagons and climbed up the steps, passed the lemon tree in the front yard, carrying casserole dishes full of food. Mary greeted each of them graciously, repeating _God bless you_ so many times that the words became oddly alien to Penny's ears.

She sat at the dining room table with George and Missy – a rebellious sort of kiddies table – as Missy attempted to write Meemaw's eulogy and George rotated his AA chip in his hand. Up the other end of the table, Sheldon sat engrossed in his grandmother's medical file. George and Penny sent him concerned looks, but Sheldon scarcely seemed to notice.

Penny saw it in his eyes, though. She saw the way it pained him to hand over the duty of delivering his Meemaw's eulogy to his sister. His fear of public speaking – much less public speaking from the heart – was enough to exclude him from his rightful position. She knew that Sheldon viewed it as another way that he had let down his grandmother.

But, more concerning than that was the intensity of his gaze on the words on the page. She knew that he blamed himself for not catching the cancer before it metastasized throughout Meemaw's body. She knew that in his brilliant mind, he viewed the rest of them as unwitting victims, people to be protected by his superior intellect. He would never forgive himself for letting his grandmother die; he would always blame himself when he failed to see every possible outcome. It was why he made provision for all of them in his apocalypse plan.

While waiting for her plane, she had read a story in _New Scientist _(she had never read that before meeting her boys) about how when you know someone, you brain can always pick them out in a crowd. Because, one tiny portion of your brain belongs to that person and that person alone. Knowing that a certain portion of Sheldon's extraordinary brain filled her with hope and sadness in equal measure. It would take no more than that portion of his brain to drive him mad if something happened to her that he couldn't change or fix.

But she loved that they were so entwined. She loved it, even when he was sitting three chairs away with that stern look on his face.

"When did Meemaw finish school?" Missy asked, her forehead creased.

"29 June 1954," Sheldon said automatically, not looking up from the file.

George's fingers closed around the chip that pronounced him 9 months sober. "You want to take a break from that, Shell…Sheldon?"

If anything, he flipped through the pages faster. It must have been the tenth time he had read them from cover to cover. "Is that a question or a statement?" Sheldon asked flatly. "If it is a question, then the answer is no. If it is a statement than it is incorrect."

"It was both," George said, equal parts annoyed and compassionate. "You've gotta stop torturing yourself."

"Only you would view close and detailed reading as torture."

"Don't do that," George said, standing up. "Don't try to make me stop caring by calling me stupid."

Sheldon was absolutely still, all sharp angles and narrowed eyes. With perfect composure, he put his pen down and steepled his fingers over the file. They were so long and elegant that they reminded Penny of the branches outside the house that formed a roof over the street.

"You claim to care about me," Sheldon said, holding his brother's gaze. His voice hadn't changed at all, it was still even and measured – without inflection. He looked at his brother with a bland sort of expression on his face. It was as if Sheldon were simply absent. "I have a perfect memory, George. I remember every single time that our father hit me. I remember the look on Missy's face when she was too scared to speak. I remember how you would come into the room a moment after it was done. You would come into the room and see Missy shivering and me bleeding and you would turn around and walk back out again."

Sheldon took in a deep, shuddering breath as they sat and stood in frozen horror, watching him. "You did absolutely nothing to stop it," he continued evenly. "Because you didn't care about me at all." Sheldon stood up, his tall frame oddly elegant in the wake of his devastating words. "So, I urge you not to start now."

With that, he turned on his heels and hurried up the stairs to his room.

It was utterly, perfectly silent. Even the sounds in the kitchen were gone. The whole house was silent in the face of the words that had never been said out loud before.

Penny bit her lip, tasting blood and tears that ran down her face. She stood up, wanting to reach out to George, who was so pale that he suddenly resembled Sheldon. Missy looked about as shell-shocked, repeating "_oh – oh – oh_" over and over.

But, she ignored them. She climbed the stairs, unable to form a single thought or sound. She walked to his door and opened it without knocking. She came in to find him standing by his window, looking out onto the street below. Her eyes devoured the sight of him, not shaking or struggling to catch breath in the face of his startling pronouncement. The line of his shoulder blades was perfectly straight.

There were no words. She didn't have a thing to say to him. All she could do was walk over to him and wrap her arms around him, burying her face in his back.

He stiffened at the sensation - the way he always did when he was touched unexpectedly – and her heart broke with it. She felt as if she had his memory; it was as if she could remember every single time he'd shied away from being touched. She remembered with perfect regret the way she had sat by when the others teased him or when she laughed along with everyone else. He had never said a word about it.

She wished she could have stood here with him forever, but too soon his hands were on hers, freeing himself from her grasp. But, he didn't turn around. Nor did he release her wrists. Her eyes blurred with tears as she smelled the soft, clean scent of him through his t-shirt.

"I want you to go back to Pasadena," he said softly.

She closed her eyes at his words, the tears falling freely. "I'm not leaving you."

"It's what I want."

She shook her head against his back. "You're lying."

He turned around at that – turned around to show her his face, which was free of the twitches and tics that usually accompanied his lies.

"Go home."

She shook her head furiously, furious with herself for not recognising his pain long ago and furious with him for not letting her help him. He still clutched her wrists.

"I'm asking you to leave," he said, a hint of desperation entering his voice. The sound of it gave her hope.

She looked up at him, her eyes blazing into his blue eyes that so closely resembled the lakes she'd grown up with. "You don't get to push me away," she spat, emphasising each word by pulling at his hands where they hung onto her wrists.

"I am not pushing you away," he said, his voice no longer perfectly even. "I am telling you what I need from you."

"Shut up," she said, shaking her head. "Just stop talking. Let me help you."

"Just leave. Please."

She shook her head. It would have been impossible to form words at that moment. She stood on her toes and kissed his unresponsive face. She kissed him because he was her best friend and even though her heart smarted with his words, she couldn't help but want to soothe the look in his eyes. It was easier when he closed them and his eyes always closed when her lips were pressed to his, even though he did not move a single muscle.

"Please get out," he whispered as she traced kisses over his face.

She didn't dare open her eyes. It was simpler to taste his skin, to taste the truth that he tasted like regret that hid in the shadows.[4] She touched his face with her fingers, not willing to say goodbye, but knowing that if this was it – if she never again got to touch him – then she would make this count. She would memorise him with her hands and her lips.

Finally, she stepped back, pulling herself away from him. Because she had promised herself to give him what he needed. And he said he needed her to leave.

"You can send me away," she whispered. "You can make me leave your house. But you can't stop me from caring about you."

"Why not?"

This is what always frustrated her about Sheldon. He would spend all day thinking about the spaces in between what was real. But, when it came to those invisible ties between people, he was incapable of believing in anything that he couldn't touch. He didn't trust a word that any of them said.

"I don't know, okay?" she said, furiously, her face still close enough to touch his. "I don't know the answer to…anything. You know that better than anyone. But, I know that just because you're - " _breaking my heart_ " – hurting me now, doesn't mean I'm not still going to glad that I came here for you."

"It's not real," he said simply.

"It's the only thing that's real. If you just let it be."

He reached up and took her hands into his. He examined her palms for a moment, tracing the lines with his eyes.

"I can't," he said, finally. "I apologise…" he swallowed tightly. "I'm sorry."

He was still standing against the wall when she walked out the door.

* * *

><p><em><strong>1 November 2007, 7.30pm<strong>_

_**Apartment 4A**_

She doesn't know why she keeps coming back here, to this strange apartment full of numbers and equations that she had never bothered herself with during her undistinguished high school career. She feels bruised. Her break up with Kurt had left her exhausted. But, she had been hurt before. It was nothing that dancing and drinking and screwing wouldn't fix.

For some reason this breakup is worse than any that came before it; she feels old and she feels hard – jaded in a way that she had never been before. She is naturally optimistic. She is not like this. She looks in the mirror and sees someone who might break at any moment. She wants to feel the way she felt when she got in her car to drive to California. She wants to feel the way she felt when she thought that her job would last for six months.

But, now money is a problem. She resents and needs her job in equal measure. She can't stand it when customers look at her and believe that she is no more than a waitress. But, for the first time, she wonders whether she _is_ anything other than a waitress. She wonders how far a dream can stretch when each day is hard, and long, and chips away a little at your spirit.

So she enters their story, knowing that she will emerge changed. Part of it is familiar – it is Leonard who never takes his eyes off her. She knows that part - and it warms her broken heart.

But, she is someone whose heart has been broken a hundred times. That is not what scares her. What scares her is the feeling that her spirit has been taken from her – that her fight is gone. So it is her spirit that she nurses on the couch in Apartment 4A, sitting next to a lanky neurotic who stares at his white board the way other guys stare at pictures of naked women. She watches him in stupid costumes, in his paintball gear, dressed up in his double t-shirts. So immovably himself that it gives her chills.

Watching him and the love he has for what he does – the way he defines himself by it – makes her feel as if she is waking from a deep slumber. She knows that this place will warm her, feed her and care for her.[5] But, underneath it all she knows that she is no closer to achieving what she came here for.

It is a strange road that has brought her here. But she feels like herself again. If they change her, then she feels as if it was a change that she was born to undergo. They put her back together so that she looks the same, but can never go back to when she didn't know them.

He writes numbers and figures on his white board.

It is not a language that she knows, but she recognises it as the language that his heart speaks.

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 2009, 9.00pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

He had gone into the kitchen for some food; he hadn't come down for dinner. He hadn't done anything when Penny had left. For a long time he had stood in his room, waiting for his pulse to stop racing. Eventually, he lay down on his bed, but he hadn't been tired so he looked up at the galaxies of glowing stars on his ceiling and thought about Penny.

_Just because you're hurting me now, doesn't mean I'm not still going to glad that I came here for you_

He was glad to see that his brother and sister were nowhere to be seen. But, he had no sooner opened the door of the refrigerator before his mother had appeared. She didn't speak to him, she simply walked over to the electric kettle and turned it on. He wasn't sure whether the hot beverage was for him or his mother, but he sat down at the table regardless. He wondered whether she had heard him speak those harsh words to George. He wondered whether he was in trouble.

She filled a pot of tea, putting it on the table between them, before pulling out some biscuits and putting them on a plate between them.

"Meemaw's cookies," he said, his heart clenching uncomfortably in his chest.

"The last batch," Mary smiled tightly, her pain still plainly visible on her face. "She'd want you to have them."

Sheldon took a bite of the cookies, but it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. He put it back down on the plate, staring glumly at it, wondering whether he would ever be able to taste food again.

"Your sister told me that your friend left," Mary said carefully. "She said that she was in tears when she left here."

Sheldon stared at the cookies, remembering how carefully Meemaw would cut the shapes – making him stars when he asked for them.

"Did you send her away?"

Sheldon looked up at his mother's face. He could never lie to her. "Yes. I asked her to leave."

"I see."

"Did you know?" he asked, shyly. He wasn't used to this – asking what other people knew.

"Know what?"

"That Meemaw was dying."

Mary looked down at the delicate crucifix she wore around her neck. She had been playing with it absently, the way she always did when she was in deep thought.

"I knew that she was sick. But I think she was the only one who knew that she was dying."

Sheldon shook his head stubbornly. "I should have…"

But, just what he 'should have' he couldn't say. It all seemed like too much, suddenly. The events of the last few months had left him ragged and unguarded – not ready for the great loss that he was about to suffer with the news of his grandmother's death. But, worse even than that pain was the way he felt now. He had learned from his grandmother's death that the things we care about are stolen out from under us. And he couldn't bear to lose her, so he made her go. For some reason he couldn't understand, the thought of losing her made his heart race and his hands sweat.

"I have found a question I can't answer," he said, finally. He didn't recognise his own voice; it was low and sombre. It was a voice that sounded older than its years. He could see in his mother's face that she was as surprised as he was. "I can sense that the paradigm of my relationship with Penny is shifting. I don't know how to stop it. I am powerless to stop it. And I don't know why it is happening."

"You don't have to answer this question," Mary said, leaning across the table and taking his hand in hers. "Some things come to us because we need them. That's the why."

"That is ridiculous. Penny didn't come to me. She's been with me all along."

Mary smiled at his confusion. "Exactly."

Sheldon frowned in irritation, before sighing heavily. "It will be easier now that I've decided that things will go back to how they were."

"You've decided?"

"Yes."

Mary chuckled. "You can't just decide that things will stay the same, Shelly."

"I asked her to leave," he said stubbornly.

"She'll be there when you go back to California," Mary reasoned. "You can't ask her to leave California."

Sheldon paused, considering her words. "Perhaps I will convince her to return to Nebraska." He looked down, swallowing the wave of panic that washed over him at the thought. "Or I'll just ban her from the apartment."

"You're making a mistake," Mary said firmly, lacing her fingers through his, holding tight even as he tried to pull away. "Making her leave you is a mistake. She will walk out of your life and disappear, Shelly. She'll do it. Because she's just the sort of girl who will just see it as another person not loving her properly. She'll go, because you'll be giving her exactly what she thinks she deserves. You'll be giving her as little as she expects." His mother leaned in, stroking his cheek as he stared fixedly at the plate of cookies that were spread out in front of him. "You can be scared. That's okay. You don't exactly have many reasons to believe that a man and a woman can be together, caring for each other, forever. But, you gotta wonder _why _you're so scared."

"I don't want to feel this way again," he whispered, his hands closing around his mother's, welcoming her physical proximity – perhaps for the first time in his life. "Sending her away is easier."

Mary laughed without mirth. "I don't think you know how hard this is going to be. Not just today or tomorrow or next week. Years might pass and one day you'll realize that you let your life walk out the door. Not because Penny has to be your whole life. But, because she'll _take_ that feeling with her. She'll take something of you with her." Mary's eyes were glistening. "And I need you whole. Because I promised your Meemaw that I'd look after you."

His throat felt oddly thick. "But what if something happens to her?"

As he stared down at the table in front of him, trying to measure out his guilt and fear in that exact, scientific way of his, she noticed that his hair was getting longer these days. He seemed to be parting it on the side. It was strange. Your child could live halfway across the country, but it is only when you see that he needs a haircut that you realize how little control you have. It was good, though. It was the sign that you'd raised a child properly.

He finally looked at her with those eyes of his. She had always known that one day a girl would look at those eyes and feel the way she did about him. No one could look into those eyes and want anything bad to happen to him. They were the sort of eyes you wanted to protect, even if he would be indignant to hear it.

But, there was not just innocence in his gaze. There was more depth and complexity than Mary could wrap her mind around. She had seen his sheer genius and just the beginnings of wisdom. But, there was also damage. She could see that, even if she could never bring herself to ask what he'd been through – what his daddy had done to him. She had heard him confess it for the first time that afternoon. She had heard him say the words and she had realized that she had always known. She realized that she had willed her little boy to keep his silence so that she could pretend that it wasn't real.

Mary remembered herself crying at the kitchen table while her mother squeezed her hand after she found out that Shelly was a genius. She had been scared then – scared for most of his life – that he would form a cage out of his own brilliance. And she right, mostly. But, now the door was wide open and he was staying in there by choice. She knew that now was not the time for putting on bandaids and chasing down bullies. Now was the moment to let _him _choose to step out into the world. Now was the time for faith.

Mary Cooper had never lacked faith.

"No, you listen to me," she said, her eyes blazing with a sudden intensity. He looked at her without blinking, surprised by her sudden fierceness. "You're a grown man. You're a _strong_ man. It takes someone strong to be exactly who they are no matter what anyone else says. I'm not gonna to lie to you. Bad things might happen. Bad things will _always_ happen. But, we're talking about not being _alone_ when they happen." Mary swallowed. "Your Meemaw never turned her back on the people she loved. Shelly, if you take what she gave you and you use it as an excuse never to feel that way about another person, well – you'd be dishonouring her memory."

He looked down in a rare moment of self-doubt. "What if I'm not good at it?"

"You'll learn," she chuckled, smoothing his hair over his forehead. "You're a fast learner. And you've got a big heart under those funny t-shirts of yours."

"I presume that you're employing a metaphor and not diagnosing me with cardiomegaly?"

"Now I'll give you the good advice that will help you make the right choice," Mary said, her eyes narrowing, "but don't you sass me in doctor talk."

"I apologise," he said, before he stood up to his full height and striding to the door. But, before he exited, he paused. "Please excuse me."

She smiled, nodding to let him know that he was allowed to leave. Yes. She had raised him properly. _This_ was why you raised your children. To see them in these moments. Because these were the moments that were everything. Because sometimes a life changes in a moment. A life changes with a decision, even a small one. And at that moment, Mary saw in her son's beautiful eyes that he had made a decision – even if it was not one he fully understood. Confronted with the choice between going forward and turning back, he had decided to take a step forward.

* * *

><p><em><strong>27 November 2009, 9.30pm<strong>_

_**BAR, Galveston, Texas**_

That last tequila shot had been a bad idea. Actually, scratch that. The tequila shot _before_ that last tequila shot had been a bad idea.

But, Penny was determined. She had a goal. She was going to get as drunk as it was humanly possible to get and she was going to take someone home. Or, she was going to get as drunk as it was humanly possible to get and she was going to go home and throw up until she cried. Either way.

She sat with her elbows on the bar, cracking open the shell of a peanut. She had a small stack of nuts next to her. She wasn't hungry, but she needed to keep her hands busy.

She pulled out her phone, fiddling awkwardly with the keyboard – finding Raj's number. She had to close one eye to focus on it.

_Coming home tmrw. S asked me to go. Evrythings messed up. _

She should be used to this. She should be getting better at losing people. It was happening more and more in her life. But, for some reason, the feeling that she'd lost Sheldon had left her hands shaking and her skin burning with nerve endings that suddenly felt exposed. She felt more than she thought she could withstand. But, she cherished the sensation, because it was all she had left of him.[6]

When had this happened? When over the last few years had she and this tall, impossible man developed such an intense connection that the thought of losing him left her feeling as if her skin had been pulled away to expose the vulnerable nerves below. Everything around her had begun to disappear – even Harold, the kindly old bartender who wanted to cut off her tequila supply.

"I'll have another," she slurred.

Harold shot her a worried glance as he cleaned a beer mug with a tea towel. "I think you've had more than enough, sweetheart."

"I want another," she said. "And I'm the custom…I'm the – I'm the one who buys stuff so I'm always right." She waggled her finger at him. "I know these things. I'm a waitress."

"How about something with a mixer?" he smiled warmly, pouring her a coke with only the tiniest drop of rum.

"But we're friends," she said, as she obediently sipped her drink. She leaned her elbow on the bar, looking around at the crowd. It was completely empty, except for a table of five young guys out to party and a few old-timer cowboys who were clearly regulars. "I need to find a guy. To replace _my_ guy. Maybe he'll even get jealous." She cackled to herself. "Sheldon, _jealous_ – that would be the day."

"Penny."

The laughter died in her throat. Standing in front of her, his hands balled uselessly in front of him, was Sheldon Cooper. She wondered for a moment how he had gotten here, before she caught sight of George making a beeline for the pool table – pretending not to watch them and failing spectacularly.

"What are you doing here?"

Sheldon winced, even though her question had been more bewildered than angry. Penny wondered whether he had winced like that when his father entered the room.

"George and I were looking for you."

"You guys made up?"

Sheldon shrugged, almost guiltily. "I made representations that he owed me some sort of debt that I would forgive if he helped me find you."

"Sheldon," she said, shaking her head. "You shouldn't have done that."

He looked down at his feet, covered by his white trainers. "I needed to find you," he said gently. "Galveston can be treacherous at night."

She snorted. "Only about twelve people live here."

He twitched slightly. "Approximately 47,000 people live here."

"Since when do you approximate?"

He swallowed, before walking purposefully to the bar stool next to her. She watched as he stared at the seat with distaste. But, then, to her surprise, he sat down on it. She could almost fool himself that she was just a girl in a bar – and he was a stranger who had only just gotten the courage to speak to her.

"I'm doing a lot of things recently that are out of the ordinary."

Suddenly, the levity she had been able to maintain since his arrival disappeared. She felt the weight of everything that she had learned today, everything he had said, crash down upon her. It was almost difficult to breathe. She didn't know how she was meant to do this. She didn't know what to do with him. She hadn't expected him to come looking for her and now that he was here and she still didn't know what to say. She was supposed to be good at this.

"You asked me to leave," she said, her voice breaking slightly. She stared straight ahead at the mirror behind the bar.

"I know," he said softly, his hands folded in his lap.

She could see from her reflection that her eyes were glistening with tears. "You told me you _needed_ me to leave. So I left."

"I know," he said, meeting her eyes only in the mirror.

"How did you find me?" she asked in a small voice that threatened at any moment to dissolve into tears.

"My father used to come here," he said in that same flat voice he used whenever he spoke of his childhood. "I knew that your usual modus operandi in this situation would be to imbibe some alcohol."

She shook her head, before turning around on her bar stool to face him, taking in his profile. "I don't have a 'usual' anything in this situation, Sheldon. I am flying totally blind right now. I have no idea how to help you – what I'm supposed to do for you. I don't even know who I _am_ to you. And…I just…I just can't stand not being able to help you."

He stared intently at the bottles of varying shapes and sizes that decorated the shelves. He didn't know how to answer her implicit question; he was as lost as she was. She seemed embarrassed by her outburst in the face of his silence.

"Last night," he said stiffly. "It occurred to me for the first time that you could die. You could die and I wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it. I found the thought of it unusually distressing and painful. So, I decided that it would be best to ask you to leave so that I never had to experience grief as acute as that which I am experiencing for Meemaw again."

"Sheldon - " she said gently, her hand reaching out to his arm, which lay flat on the bar. He still refused to look at her.

"But, now I understand that the grief I would feel at losing you from my life is just as painful." Finally, he looked at her, turning his body so that they were facing and his knees were brushing hers. "I do not understand the dynamic of our relationship as it currently stands. But, I propose that we figure it out together."

It took her a few moments to translate that from Sheldonese in her head – her brain was so full of the warmth of tequila.

"Sheldon?" she asked, a wide smile breaking across her face.

"Penny?"

"You should probably kiss me now."

She sat perfectly still, wanting this kiss to belong entirely to him. For an extended moment, he just looked at her face, a soft, painful smile on his face. He reached out one of his slim, artistic hands and gently traced the line of her cheekbone before leaning in and kissing her gently on the lips. She scarcely dared to draw breath as he deepened the kiss, bringing his other hand behind her back to keep her steady.

It could have been a few seconds of a few hours. Penny would not have been able to say. When he finally pulled away, she saw over his shoulder that Harold was beaming.

"Penny?"

"Sheldon?"

"Let's leave this establishment before we contract some sort of disease."

As they walked out the door with George in tow, the cold night air was surprisingly brisk. Even as she felt her drunkenness retreating, she couldn't help but feel oddly euphoric. She may not know what it was that was going on between them, but at least she knew that he was _in_ this with her.

As if reading her mind – because really, if anyone could it would be him – he pulled her close, kissing her forehead as they walked and George crowed enthusiastically at the sight.

It was not artful – his lips hit her hairline. But, it was perfect to her. The feeling his arm slung over her shoulder was perfect.

They were by each other's side. They were where they belonged.

* * *

><p>[1] Based on Mark Haddon, <em>The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time<em>.

[2] Based on Juanot Diaz, _This is how you lose her_.

[3] Quote from Anais Nin.

[4] "Tasted like regret" – based on Markus Zusak, _The Book Thief._

[5] based on Jeanette Winterson, _Written on the Body_.

[6] Loosely based on _Grey's Anatomy_.

**A/N:** I know that was a particularly long one – sorry! I just couldn't pick a moment to stop. **Next chapter: **Penny and Sheldon will return to California and will take a big step forward on the physical side of their relationship. I'm also toying with the idea of revealing Raj's secret.


	12. Chapter 12: Stop all the Clocks

A/N: The later part of this chapter is a bit racier than anything that has come before, but I have tried to stay true to the tone of the story.

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Twelve: Stop all the clocks**

_Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,_

_Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,_

_Silence the pianos and with muffled drum_

_Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come…_

…_The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;_

_Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;_

_Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood._

_For nothing now can ever come to any good._

W.H. Auden

* * *

><p><em><strong>15 August 2009, 5.00am <strong>_

_**The Arctic **_

He comes to the frozen wilderness, convinced that his trials were nearly complete and that soon the prize would be his.

He comes to Arctic to know the universe – to hear its song, to hear its mysterious heart-beat. But, all he finds here is a vast silence under northern lights.

The landscape he wakes to each day is a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lonely and cold that the spirit of it is not even that of sadness. There is a hint of laughter, but of laughter more terrible than any sadness – a laughter that is as humourless as the smile of the Sphinx, as cold as the frost.[1]

This frozen, savage landscape is supposed to be the backdrop to his greatest success. The first day he had looked at the vast whiteness an imagined his name inscribed on it. Here he is to become someone great. Here is the time of his reckoning. He is conscious of the terrible dangers of their cabin, the experiments they perform each day, the threat of madness in the bright white of the landscape. But, he knows that his destiny demands this of him. If he is to become the giant that he envisages, he must find a way to thrive in this hostile environment. Harder, perhaps, for him than others.

He works every hour of every day, he snaps at his friends – views them as if from a great distance, does not see their exhaustion, their uncertainty, their exasperation. Confronted with a riddle more complex and multi-faceted than any he has seen before, he becomes pure thought, pure intellect. He becomes devoid of any semblance of the narrow range of social skills he has taken three decades to learn.

For the first time he is afraid that he has been wrong all this time. He is afraid that the very essence of himself is not up to the challenge before him. He experiences terror in the face of the unknown, begins to imagine the catastrophe of failing to achieve his goals.

He is pure thought, but his body makes demands of him like it never has before. He descends to his base needs – the food and warmth that even primitive man sought out. He finds himself thinking of home, feeling sentimental in a way that he has never experienced before. He finds himself taking strange risks.

He stays out later than the others. He uses his hands to pick things up. He remembers his childhood in Texas, on Meemaw's farm. His muscles have never been used this way before.

One morning, he leaves the cabin by himself to see if the great white snow is close enough to nothingness to allow him to visualise the complex numbers and frequencies that they have recorded. Nothing matches his expectations. It seems like nonsense. But, it can't be nonsense. So, the only conclusion left is that he is not the man to understand the universe's song. He is not the man the universe chooses to whisper to.

He feels snowflakes on his eyelashes. He feels a chill that reaches his bones. His teeth ache with the cold and his eyes can scarcely adjust to the reflection of sunlight on snow.

Then, without warning he sees her. He has been thinking of her – because for him the thought of home is always associated with Penny.

It is a hallucination. He is aware of that. But, it is as real to him as the feeling of cold on his cheeks. She runs across the snow, laughing that joyous, belly laugh of hers. She asks him to race her, as exuberant as a child in a snowdrift.

_You can't catch me, Sheldon_.

He steps forward, one heavy, boot-clad foot in front of another. She is close enough to touch – he swipes a hand out to catch her, but she is gone.

_I'm over here._

He staggers towards her, fearful that she will freeze in her jeans. He staggers towards her as she dances around like a dragonfly. She disappears again and again. She leaves and revisits him constantly. Then, she disappears from view.

_You can't catch me._

He lets out a deep, guttural noise of frustration. He will lose her forever in this terrible, silent place. He doesn't know why the loss of a wraith should scare him so; he knows very well that Penny is safely in her apartment in Pasedena. But, for an instant, the frozen laughter of the Arctic wilderness is crueller than it was before. He turns his back on the snow that plays tricks even on _his_ mind. He turns his back to any thought of home. He leaves Snow Penny alone in the tundra.

He is filled with such a longing to return home that it lances through him like a blade. It is like a strike across the face. It is the most painful feeling he had ever experienced.

There is no time to think of that now. He cannot face the judgement of friends that are far away; he is standing on giant's shoulders straining towards the heavens. It isn't supposed to be easy.

But he didn't realize it was going to be this hard.

* * *

><p><em><strong>28 November 2009, 7.00am<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

They were oddly quiet in the morning, moving around each other on tip toes in Sheldon's childhood bedroom. Neither was willing to broach what had happened last night. Not yet.

Penny wasn't sure why it felt so momentous. Sheldon had come to find her in that dingy bar – where his father had come to drink and do who-knows-what. He had told her, in his own way, that he was afraid to lose her.

_I do not understand the dynamic of our relationship as it currently stands. But, I propose that we figure it out together. _

He had kissed her, when she told him to. He had wrapped his arm around her as they walked to George's car. Then, without saying anything out loud, they had climbed the stairs to Sheldon's bedroom, gotten ready for bed, and gone to sleep. They had fallen asleep shoulder-to-shoulder. Sheldon had needed to sleep last night and he never seemed quite comfortable with the way she wrapped herself around him. But, that morning they had woken up to find themselves once more entwined.

They had woken up at almost the exact same moment. She had smiled at him and he had smiled back. They had woken up, but neither had moved. For almost half an hour they had just stared at each other in the early morning light. The only movement had been Sheldon's hand when he brushed her hair from her face.

It was so intense and intimate. Penny had never known herself to be so still – to find herself so captivated by another person's eyes. But, she had never really let herself look into Sheldon's eyes – at least, not without affecting a glare or a hint of challenge. He may be a novice at relationships, but she was a novice at _this_. Finally, Sheldon started squirming – the pull of his schedules and planning suddenly proving too strong.

"My fundamentalist Christian mother will probably come in here to wake me if I do not emerge soon. It would be…advisable for us to mask the fact that you slept here."

She grinned at him. "I would be happy to inform her that your virtue remains in tact…unfortunately."

She will never tire of seeing that blush of his. All too fast, he is sitting up and wrapping his robe around his tall frame. She knew that they would have to talk about it eventually: to define what they were and determine its boundaries. But, for now, a part of her was happy just teasing him.

"Rajesh has sent me a text message."

She climbed over to his side of the bed, resting her chin on his stiff shoulders. She peered down at his iPhone.

_I'll be thinking about you and your family today, buddy. Take as long as you need. I've got everything under control at work. R_.

"Raj is such a sweetie."

Sheldon made a neutral noise in his throat. "He is fast becoming my most reliable and valued friend."

"None taken," she said, nudging him in the side.

He frowned. "I am afraid I do not know to what you are referring."

"I mean, no offence taken. Even though you said Raj was becoming your favourite friend."

"I do not believe I said favourite," he said, shrugging his shoulders to free himself from her clutches. She swallowed her offence, when she reminded herself that today was Meemaw's funeral. He stood before his wardrobe, staring at his black suit. "Besides, referring to you as a mere 'friend' would not convey the depth of my esteem for you."

She found herself uncharacteristically speechless. So, she simply nodded and hurried to the bathroom, clutching her simple black dress that she always thought of as her funeral dress. Sheldon sighed at her predictable inability to follow protocol and traipsed down to the bathroom on the lower story of the house.

When he put on his suit, he found himself staring at his own reflection. He had always lacked the aesthetic ability that came so naturally to people like Penny. But, if he had to hazard a guess, he would say that the suit made him look particularly tall and mournful. He had shaved himself carefully, aware of his grandmother's preference for smooth cheeks.

_Meemaw_. He supposed that her preferences did not matter now; he knew that it was pure sentimentality to consider them in his morning ablutions. But, he could no more forget her views on stubble as forget her face – not merely because of his perfect memory.

He was a scientist. He was someone who saw the world for what it was. So, he knew that this was his world now. It was a sad, strange place – full of memories that filled his heart with yearning and sadness. But, it was also a world full of unexpected possibilities, full of feelings that threatened to make him come undone. It was a terrifying, unknown world. But, it was his world now. And having chanced upon this strange new landscape he knew that there was no turning back now.

But it was alright. He would face it with the same single-mindedness that had led him to hear the song of the universe.

If he had been in one to succumb to fits of whimsy, he might have imagined that she had been drawn into the room by the strength of his thoughts alone. The black dress was out of character for her. The last time she had worn black had been two years ago on 14 July, when attending a funeral for her old acting instructor. She didn't often wear black. He knew from laundry night that most of her black clothing was lingerie. He pointedly tried to forget that fact as he felt an inappropriate shiver of excitement at that thought.

"You look very elegant, Penny," he said stiffly. "I do hope that it is not inappropriate to compliment a woman's funeral attire."

"I never turn down a compliment," she said, in what she hoped was a casual tone. The truth was that compliments from Sheldon made her palms sweaty and her stomach flutter. Perhaps it was because of how sparing he was with them. He would look at her with a serious expression, before a small smile would appear on his face, rounding his cheeks and making his face look less angular. He was always so matter-of-fact about it, comfortable with expressing the limits of his understanding of social interactions. So many people Penny knew spent their time tiptoeing through unknown terrain, never wanting to express the boundaries of their understanding. But, Sheldon, who knew so much more than the rest of them, was also the most comfortable with admitting when he was unsure.

"Do you need help with that?" she asked, as he turned back to his tie.

"No," he said simply. "But if you would like to adhere to the traditional gender stereotypes in deference to our donning formalwear, then I will allow you to do so."

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically, but confident that he would not notice.

"You're welcome."

She had to admit that she did feel like a 1950s housewife as she adjusted his tie. She would have abandoned the endeavour entirely if she hadn't been eager to stand close to him, to smell the scent of him that she had been afraid of losing when they had fought yesterday. For his part, Sheldon was examining her carefully as her hands worked at knotting his tie.

In Penny's humble opinion, Sheldon shouldn't be allowed to turn that mega-watt gaze of his onto people without warning. Her hands shook slightly as she tried to tie the Windsor knot she had learned from her father. She could tell that he was trying to figure something out.

"Why are you here?" he asked suddenly, standing rod straight as she adjusted his tie.

"I've _told_ you I'm not leaving," she said, stubbornly avoiding his eyes. "We tried that already and it didn't work, remember?"

"I remember everything," he said automatically. "But, that is not what I meant."

"What _did_ you mean, then?" She had finished tying his tie, but she rested her hands on his lapels.

"I am not very good at understanding interpersonal relationships," he said simply. "But, I that the paradigm of our friendship has shifted in order to accommodate a…physical aspect…"

"A physical aspect?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and briefly considering choking him to death with his neck-tie.

"You really are incapable of allowing me to speak without interrupting me."

She crossed her arms at his tone, meeting his gaze. When he didn't speak, miming locking a key in front of her lips. He rolled her eyes at that, but bravely pressed on. He was clearly out of his depth, but he was not afraid. He was Sheldon – and Sheldon wouldn't rest until he got to the bottom of things.

"I was _going_ to say that our relationship has shifted to accommodate a physical aspect as well as a mechanism for emotional support. I am given to understand that our present behaviour is consistent with modern courtship. So I am asking you why you are engaging in this behaviour with _me_, when I am such a diversion from your usual 'type' – Leonard excluded, of course."

She shook her head, uncertain of whether she was fighting an impulse to laugh or to cry. He was so earnest in his mourning suit. He was so utterly clueless.

"You think you and Leonard are the same type?" she asked softly.

"We're both university educated, we have common interests, we - "

Without warning, she reached out and pulled him to her by the lapels, drawing his startled face down to her blazing eyes. "You and Leonard are nothing alike. You are not like anyone that I've known before." She loosened her grip on him, but he made no move to stand up to his full height. "I didn't just come to California to be an actress. I came because I wanted to be extraordinary. And you are, without doubt, the most extraordinary person that I have ever met."

"So," he said uncertainly. "You're saying that you are interested in me romantically because I am different? You are seeking to change the pattern of your previous choice in mates?"

She snorted, running her hands over his jacket to smooth where she had wrinkled it. "I'm saying that you _changed_ me, Sheldon. Knowing you has changed me, you've changed the way that my story goes – and you've changed what I want from that story. But it wasn't until you started slipping away, disappearing into yourself, that I realized how much I need you around. I need you to be here to drive me crazy and make me better. I couldn't deny what you meant to me anymore. Any life without you in it would have been a lie." She paused, biting her lip. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I think that I do," he said, sighing and looking more regretful than she could ever remember seeing him. "I am not good at expressing emotions, or recognising them when they arrive. It has never struck me as a significant deficit, until recently." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "I am…concerned. I believe that I am concerned that I will let you down. I am concerned that I can't…do this."

"That's good," she said gently, smiling at him and his perfect honesty. "You just keep telling me when you feel concerned or when you're worried that you can't do something. And I'll do whatever you can't. That's how you and I work."

"That's how we work?"

"Yep," she said, before kissing him gently on the mouth. She pulled her face back, looking at his plump lower lip. "You should trust me." She leaned in for another kiss, as light as snowflake. "Because I _am_ good at this. I'll teach you."

"_You_ will teach _me_?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh yeah," she whispered, before nipping his lower lip playfully with her teeth. "And I think it's going to be _fun_."

With that, she turned around and sashayed out the door. When she turned around, she saw that he was frozen in exactly the same spot that she had left him – with two patches of crimson burning on his cheeks.

* * *

><p><em><strong>24 October 2000, 3.00pm<strong>_

_**Bellevue, Nebraska**_

Two things she knows with absolute certainty. The first is that she loves her big brother Jimmy the best. The second is that she is her mother's daughter.

The first thing fills her with certainty; it is a single stable point in the universe. The second causes her stomach to twist and makes her bite her nails. Her mother told her that if she kept biting them eventually they would fall off. Then, her mother had tried painting them pretty colours that always became chipped and ratty under the pressure of her teeth. Nothing had worked.

In reality, she only bit her nails once per day. It happened every day at three o'clock. Each day, without warning, her mother would walk out the front door, cross the garden and walk into the barn. A few minutes would pass, and then one of her father's farmhands would walk casually to the door of the barn and slip inside. Twenty minutes later, the boy would scramble out the door, tucking his shirt in and hurrying back to work. Her mother would return, quiet and industrious – working extra hard at those caring, motherly tasks that came so slowly and difficultly most days.

Today, Penny watches from her window, as shy and embarrassed as the day she had watched her mother clutch the arms of that first barn boy as they kissed. He had been called Stephen. Now Penny doesn't know their names. She watches to this day – not because she wants to know about her mother's secret life, but because she recognises, in the complexity of her emotions, the fact that she is entering the world of adulthood.[2]

She carries her mother's secret on her shoulders, she watches the exhausted lines of her father's face when the day is done and he drinks a beer in front of the football. Her mother's wandering heart she carries in her hands, knowing that if she and her brother and sister didn't exist, her mother would be gone already. She feels a strange obligation to protect her, feeling implicated in her trysts with the boys who work for a few months on the farm before disappearing forever. Bellevue is a town of passers-through.

But, the word echoes in her thoughts; the forbidden three letters that form the one word guaranteed to make the girls at her school blush and the boys at her school laugh raucously. The shapely 's', the exhalation of an 'e', and the vaguely forbidding 'x'. She tries not to think about it, but it is all she thinks about.

She sits in the living room at her father's feet. She laughs when he tickles her with his toes. But, her silence is a betrayal. She accepts that both she and her mother betray the family. She experiences her mother's shame, fears that she suffers from her mother's weakness.

But, she doesn't shy away from it. Both mother and daughter look at the clock at 3pm – one of them hurrying to the shadowy barn that is deserted in the afternoon, one of them hurrying upstairs to her bedroom window.

"What are you doing, Slug?"

She is a child with her hand in a cookie jar, in her mother's purse, reading her sister's diary. But, this is Jimmy – her big brother, the one person who can almost get away with shortening her nickname from 'Slugger'. He wanders further into her room, running his hand over her jewellery boxes, swaggering through her possessions, making her strangely embarrassed by the care bears and _Hello! Kitty_ toys that she can't bear to part with.

"Don't call me that."

He grins at her tone, knowing that she could never really say no to him. She loves the way he picks her up from school, leaning on his truck and smoking a cigarette. She loves that her friends have crushes on him, how he's always in trouble. He is all blonde hair and tanned skin and bomber jackets. He is fearless. She wants to be fearless too.

"Tell me what you're doing."

She glances out the window to the garden, where only moments ago her mother had walked. She never shocks Jimmy. He is constantly walking away from her – walking away to his cool friends and their crazy parties. She is the baby of the family. She always has been. But, she has guarded her mother's secrets. Because, if they weren't here then their mother would have lived the life that she wanted to. They all know it. Jimmy knows it most of all – that the moment their mother peed on a stick and found out that she was pregnant with him, the dungeon door clanged shut.

Jimmy knows it most of all. For one moment, she balances the strange guilt she carries in her chest against her overwhelming desire to share a secret with her brother.

"You can't tell anyone, okay?"

"I wouldn't sell you out, Slug."

She knows that she shouldn't say anything, but it tumbles out of her. The moment that she is done, telling him everything, he grins a strange sort of grin and strides out of her room. For a moment she is confused; she thought that at least he would stay to talk about what she had told him. She thought that she had finally found something that was big enough to keep her big brother's interest.

She hurries out of her bedroom, standing on the landing as her brother rushes down the stairs, skipping two steps at a time. "Jimmy – you _can't _tell anyone."

But, he has disaster in his hands. Soon she will learn that there is nothing her brother likes more than to wield disaster in his hands. Soon she will watch him lay waste to their family. Soon she will watch him destroy himself.

For now, though, she runs back into her bedroom to the window. Powerless, she watches as Jimmy strides down the dirt road. With dawning horror, she watches as her father meets him halfway up the road. Jimmy shakes off his hand – keeps walking. When their father tries to follow him, to convince him to stay put today, Jimmy turns around with a look of triumphant vindictiveness on his face.

She doesn't have to hear his words to know what he is telling their father. She doesn't have to hear his words to know what he is saying, because as Jimmy speaks, their father looks up at her window and meets her eyes. She ducks, hoping that he doesn't see her, but knowing down to the soles of her feet that he does.

She peeks out the window to watch as her father walks towards the bright red barn. Jimmy doesn't even stick around to see it all unfold. He leaves catastrophe in his wake. He always does, she just never wants to see it. But, she sees it now as her father walks out of the barn, with his hands pressed to his head, as if trying to catch his breath.

Her mother follows him, trying to hold onto his sleeve, but he shakes her off. It is strange that in the moment of discovery she seems panicked that the life she treated so carelessly might disappear entirely.

They fight for days. Penny hides in her room. Until, one day they just give up fighting with each other. That moment, they give in – they see themselves clearly, they know they will never leave and they will never be happy again. They decide to stay. They decide to commit to that final cruelty – to live like ghosts.

It is her fault. No one says it. But, she knows that she is as much to blame as Jimmy is. Her father doesn't call her Slugger anymore; her mother doesn't teach her the words to Joni Mitchell songs. The house is quiet, as if awaiting a tornado. Jimmy doesn't come home much, except to steal.

That summer, without any warning, her father decides to knock down the barn. Penny watches from the same window in her bedroom as her mother's final hiding place is knocked down by bulldozers.

* * *

><p><em><strong>28 November 2009, 10.30am<strong>_

_**Caltech**_

What had started as a casual coffee meeting had escalated into hours of discussion and Leonard's experience of the Arctic and the horrible mistake that he had made. Amy was frank. She didn't equivocate. She put voice to everything that Leonard silenced.

She adjusted her glasses. "So I understand that you were nursing fratricidal thoughts about your brilliant best friend because the harsh Arctic climate and his monomaniacal quest to prove his theoretical work on M-theory had accentuated his most objectionable qualities. Is my understanding correct?"

"Correct," Leonard said, oddly comforted by her scientific analysis.

"Then my follow-up question is why did you decide to accompany Dr. Cooper to the Artic in the first place?"

"Uh," Leonard found himself lost for words for a moment. "I guess I wanted to be a part of a great moment in science."

"Dr. Cooper's great moment."

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, it's pretty rare, you know. Being a part of something like that."

"So you believed that he could do it?"

"I guess I did. And he did do it."

"Later," Amy said, sipping her water and adjusting her long, brown skirt over her knees. "But when you were there, he was lost."

Leonard remembered the way Sheldon would come back, almost at nightfall. His eyes would be wild, his cheeks pink. He would demand that they analyse the data, he would demand that they work all night. He would never rest. He was desperate.

"He was doubting himself," Leonard said, surprising himself. He had never taken time to consider the Arctic from Sheldon's perspective. All he remembered was the cold, the immovable schedule, the exhaustion.

"Maybe that was what was driving you crazy," Amy said. "Maybe you were angry with him for not having the answer."

"Angry?" Leonard asked, his voice breaking slowly. "I wasn't _angry_. I was _frustrated_, maybe. But I wasn't angry. You can't get angry at someone like Sheldon. It's just how he is." Leonard paused, considering. "I mean, I _know_ Sheldon. I've known him for years. This is just how is about work. And I had practice for years. I mean, he's kind of like my mother in the way he works. They're both brilliant, but they're not the easiest people to get along with."

"Did your mother let you down too?"

Leonard was utterly speechless at that. He had no idea how they had ended up discussing his mother, when he had come with every intention of putting forward Sheldon as Amy's ideal mate. Yet, here they were, as the crowd thinned in the café, talking about Leonard's childhood and the way his mother had defined him his entire life.

For the first time, he realized that he had spent most of his adult life pandering to Sheldon, the way he had spent his early life pandering to his mother. He had shambled after geniuses his entire life. He had been taught to respect genius. He had been taught that he was never quite as smart as his mother would have liked him to be. He was taught that he needed to make up for some deficit that he never quite understood.

He told Amy about how Beverley had hated him playing the cello. It was his father who had insisted on it. His mother thought it a frivolous instrument, adding needless affect to pieces of music that were technically sufficient. If he was honest with himself, a part of him had always wanted to pursue music along with science. He had never even articulated this desire to his mother, knowing how she would feel about it. He loved science, but the cello was how his soul spoke.

Of course, it had been a part of himself that he had been willing to throw away when Penny had come along.

Amy told him about her mother – an English professor, with a focus on Freudian analysis of literature. She was artistic, passionate, unpredictable. Amy had never known whether she would come home to. One moment, her mother would decry men and enter short but intense lesbian relationships. The next, she would be lecturing Amy on the importance of finding a man capable of supporting her financially. Amy suspected, in that even, analytical way of hers, that she might have suffered from undiagnosed bipolar disorder.

It was not until the café staff began sweeping up around them, turning chairs upside down, that Leonard realized that they had stayed until closing and that he had scarcely said a word about Sheldon in his own right.

He had asked Amy to meet him again, this time at a coffee shop nearer Los Robles. He'd had his work cut out for him; she insisted that she had satisfied her deal with her mother by having coffee with Leonard. He'd been forced to point out to her, rather abruptly, that they had not in fact had a date, because he had been acting as Sheldon's proxy. She had shrugged at his reasoning and agreed to meet with him again. Neither of them acknowledged the fact that Leonard would still be acting as Sheldon's proxy. Leonard suspected that Amy did not have many friends. The ranks of Leonard's own friendship group were rapidly thinning.

He had put on cologne, unsure of what he was doing – feeling like an idiot. He just didn't want her to think that what she had seen yesterday – that insecure guy who had mother issues – was all there was to him. He didn't want to be defined by his biggest mistake anymore.

Besides, he would have to start talking Sheldon up if his plan was ever going to work.

He saw her coming down the street. She was reading as she walked. She almost walked directly into a pole, until a kindly old man pulled her out of harm's way.

Leonard smiled.

* * *

><p><em><strong>28 November 2009, 5.00pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

It was sad. It was just sad.

It was sad watching the look on Sheldon's face when Missy gave her stumbling, heart-felt eulogy. It was the eulogy he should have delivered, but his terror of public speaking and the emotions of the day had made that impossible. They had agreed it as a family, silently. But, on the day, in his black suit with his sad eyes, it seemed as if the entire church looked at him, waiting for the insight of genius to tell them how to deal with this loss to the family and the community. He lowered his head and stared at his lap and experienced a perfect moment of relativity; time sped up and slowed down. Before he knew it, the hymns were playing and the service was over.

Penny had tried to catch hold of his hand during the service, but he had not wanted the contact. He had wanted to be alone. He had wanted to experience the shock of his grief without any reassurance.

After the service, the family walked to the gravesite to watch the coffin be lowered into the ground. Penny had wanted desperately to go with them – with Sheldon and Missy and George and Mary. But it had been for close family only; Meemaw had wanted it that way. Of course, Meemaw had probably never envisaged that her favourite grandson would come to a funeral with a girl. The thought of the great tracts of life that lay before Sheldon, that his grandmother would never witness, made Penny's heart ache.

"_I'll be here when you get back_," she had said as she dropped her hand and watched Sheldon walk away with his family.

She had been oddly terrified that he would be forever changed by his visit to the gravesite – that he would leave a piece of himself in the ground with his Meemaw. When he came back he was solemn and drawn. But, he picked up her hand once more. He was hurt, but he was not going to come apart before her eyes.

There was a big turn out. Mary and Missy's church had come in full force. But, there were also members of the wider Galveston community, whose lives had been touched by Sheldon's grandparents – who had received their charity and benefited from their strength. Penny heard so many stories about the extraordinary woman that was Evelyn Adams, that she fancied that Meemaw herself was a guest at the funeral.

She wondered whether a day would pass without her feeling regretful that she had never had a chance to meet Sheldon's grandmother.

Then there were the guests who were there only to keep up appearances. There were a series of rough looking boys from Sheldon's high school – much older than him – who ogled Penny and laughed noisily at the sight of their joined hands. There was a man who undoubtedly used to sell George drugs; he hovered around the back of the church, near his motorcycle, watching to see whether George needed a pick-me-up. A few sharp words from Missy made the vulture to disappear.

Back at the Cooper's house, Penny busied herself making use of her waitressing skills. No one's glass went empty. No one felt neglected during their increasingly animated discussions of their memories.

She was worried about Mary, who had been keeping herself in check all day. She had greeted guests, soothed and comforted strangers. Penny could scarcely believe what strength was contained in that tiny frame. She found herself putting a plate together, wanting to make sure that Mary ate something, even though a part of her was nervous about being cornered and interrogated by the older woman. Perhaps she could give the plate to Missy to convey to her mother.

"You have not stopped looking after people for a minute today."

She should have known better than to think that she could hide from Mary Cooper.

"I could say the same to you, Mrs. Cooper."

"Mary, please," she said quickly, before offering a sly smile. "My sons' girlfriends call me Mary."

"Oh, well," Penny stammered. "I'm not sure that I…I mean we haven't actually agreed."

"I'm just teasing you."

Penny laughed weakly, noticing that they were standing by the fireplace. On the mantle was a picture of the three siblings, Sheldon slightly apart from the other two, hating every minute of posing. It was Christmas morning. A half-unwrapped telescope lay behind him. In another photograph, Sheldon – only just pubescent, swimming in academic robes – accepted his PhD. Penny was so used to the idea that Sheldon was a genius. It was sometimes easy to forget about those formative years, when he was no more than a boy. Only looking at the pictures did she realize how young he was compared to his classmates, how lonely he must have been.

Penny glanced appraisingly at Mary. The woman was a walking encyclopaedia of Sheldon – so much of his early life remained a mystery to Penny. It would have been nice to sit down with Mary and pick her brain about him.

Never missing a trick, Mary noticed where Penny's eyes had wandered.

"I've gotta say," Mary said eventually. "I did not expect you to be such a good…friend to Shelly. He's been a let down a lot this year."

"I know he has. I hate what's happened to him. Although the work stuff – that seems to have turned out okay."

Mary nodded thoughtfully. "Shelly will always find a way to fix work. He has never found a science problem that he couldn't solve. It's the other stuff – friendships and romance and _life_. That's the stuff that Shelly has problems with."

"He's complicated."

"That's an understatement-and-a-half," Mary laughed without mirth. "We just buried the only person who ever really understood Shelly. I just buried my mother, so I'm sorry if this comes out as rude. But I need to know that you are up to this. I need to know that you're _sure_. Because this is all new to Shelly – the way he feels about you – this is all new to him."

Despite Mary's serious face and the grip of her hand on Penny's arm, Penny couldn't help but feel a thrill at the idea of how Sheldon might feel about her and the fact that he might have told his mother about those feelings. Sometimes she fancied that she might have dreamed it all; she and Sheldon had become so removed from their lives, from their friends. It was sometimes easier to believe that she had imaged everything, rather than believe that only two nights ago she had slept on his chest, almost without a stitch on her body. But she wanted it to be real. She wanted it to be public – whatever it was – even though people knowing would lead to more and more problems.

Mary wanted to know that she was _sure_. But, for the life of her, Penny didn't know what part of her complex relationship with Sheldon, his mother was referring to.

"I don't understand," she said uncertainly. "Mrs. Cooper…Mary, I really care about him."

"I know. I know you do. But, it's a mother's job to worry. So, I worry about him. I worry that these feelings will be too much for him. I want him to experience everything that life has to offer, but he has scars. And some of them are my fault because I didn't look after him properly. I don't want those scars to get worse."

"I wouldn't," Penny said, her voice wavering. "I would never hurt him."

"I know that. There is no one I could choose who would be a better fit for Shelly than you are. But, I hope you're ready for this. I hope you're serious about this. Because, he is not someone who is easy to love. Loving him is not easy." Mary looked at her quickly. "Don't get me wrong. I love him more than my own life. But it's not easy."

She thought about what was waiting for them in California. She thought about her friends and their friends and Leonard. She thought about the way he flinched, the scars of his youth. She thought about her own scars and those parts of herself that weren't light or cheerful. He was standing there, surrounded by men in suits – in an uneasy truce with his brother. It wouldn't be easy. She knew that; she knew _him_.

"I know it won't be easy. But I want to try. I _have_ to try. He's just…Sheldon. And I have to try." Penny cringed at her inarticulate explanation.

For a moment, Mary examined her face. Penny hoped that her eyes spoke words that her brain couldn't seem to form as she watched Sheldon slip out of the living room. Mary followed her eyes to where they stared intently as Sheldon made his getaway. A small smile graced her lips as she looked at the line of worry in the centre of Penny's forehead.

"Okay," Mary said gently, squeezing her hand. "You go see how our boy is doing."

Penny all but fled. She found Sheldon in a quiet corner of the front room, stealing a moment of solitude and cleaning his hand with sanitizer. As usual, the sight of him carefully cleaning his hands made her own feel dirty.

"Can I use some of that?" she asked.

He handed it over with a look of approval. "I believe I am starting to rub off on you."

She said nothing, examining him closely out of the corner of his eye.

He seemed thoughtful, looking out the window at the citrus fruit that struggled to survive a vicious winter. Sheldon knew how to wear a suit; there must have been something about his stature that always made suits look good. When he remembered to keep his shoulders straight, he looked quite handsome. She wrapped her arms around his, leaning her head on his arm and staring out the window with him.

"How are you doing, sweetie?"

"I am melancholy," he sighed. "But, I am also strangely heartened by my melancholy. I have never really thought about the bonds that unite me to other people. And to see how death and separation only magnify the bond I feel with Meemaw makes me glad."

"It makes you think about your life, doesn't it? Someone you love dying."

"Yes," he said softly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "But I am starting to see that the threat of loss can make human relationships more intense, more valuable. I am starting to think that I should be grateful for having known Meemaw, rather than feeling angry that I've lost her." He paused, cocking his head to the side. "I am, though. Angry, that is."

"That's okay," she said soothingly, squeezing his arm a little tighter. "It's okay if you're angry."

"I believe that I have been angry for a while now."

"You've been swallowing it."

"Metaphor?"

"Metaphor," she confirmed, smiling ruefully.

For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, Penny running one of her hands up and down his arm.

"Your Meemaw sounds amazing," Penny said finally. "I mean, what I've heard of her over the last few days. I would have…I would have loved to meet her."

"Yes," Sheldon said, huskily. "The fact that you and Meemaw never met is…painful to contemplate."

Penny peered up at him, watching in awe as a single tear dripped down his cheek. He wiped it away angrily, embarrassed by a rare and visible show of emotion.

"It's okay, sweetie," she said, catching his hand. "You _should_ cry. You should do whatever you want."

"What I want is to get out of here. At least, that's what I understand the colloquial expression to be."

For a moment, Penny wondered whether she should to try to convince him to stay. It seemed like the proper thing to do. But, looking at his sad blue eyes, she suddenly had the overwhelming urge to protect him no matter what. She realized that she didn't give a damn what was proper.

"Then, let's get out of here."

* * *

><p><em><strong>29 November 2009<strong>_

_**The Raj Mahal**_

There was a knock on the door and for a moment, Raj stared at it as if it were an inter-dimensional portal that had suddenly opened in his living room. The moment passed, but the lingering feeling of melancholy stayed. He stared at the door because right at that moment, there was no one who would be coming to visit him. He was alone.

He didn't ask who it was. There didn't seem to be any point. He just opened the door and found the last person he expected to see.

"I brought beer," Howard said with a smile on his face that begged for forgiveness. He was wearing a rather muted dark purple ensemble. He carried a plastic bag with what looked like a six pack of Pure Blonde. Raj's favourite.

Raj leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. For a long time, he stared at his best friend's face. The smile on Howard's face faltered slightly before disappearing. Raj fancied that his clothes dimmed along with his expression. He didn't mean to make this difficult for Howards, but it had taken everything that Raj had to finally confide in someone about his secret.

"I'm sorry, okay? I know I messed up. I messed up big time. I was just blindsided, you know?"

"I told you," Raj said solemnly. "You were the only the only I told. And you just left, dude. You just walked out the door."

"I know – and I'm glad you told me, I was just…I didn't know how to react. I didn't want to mess it up – I just panicked and ran away. I really am sorry."

Raj glanced at the beer, before sighing and moving aside to let Howard in. Howard rushed by him, eager to enter before Raj changed his mind. It was not until he was safely in the apartment and the door was closed that he grinned widely and reached into his bag.

"I also brought an edition of _Men's Health_," he said, visibly pleased with himself. "You're going to have to point out which dudes are your type if I'm going to be your wingman."

Raj shook his head ruefully, settling onto the couch and reaching for a beer. "Remind me why I let you into the house, again?"

"Because I'm your best friend," Howard said, showing that rare sensitive side of him that he worked so hard to bury. "I'm your best friend, no matter what. Forever."

Raj smiled, amazed at how such a simple gesture could warm his heart and fill him with hope. With the solemnity of the establishment of the Fellowship of the Ring, Raj tapped his bottle against Howard's.

"BFF," he said seriously as Howard rolled his eyes.

As Howard flipped open the magazine and commenced a running commentary on the washboard abs of the models, a thought occurred to Raj – appearing like a ray of light through the clouds.

They were going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

><p><em><strong>28 November 2009, 8.30pm<strong>_

_**Galveston, Texas**_

When Sheldon had said that he wanted to get away from the wake, Penny had thought they would slip out the back. But, of course, when Sheldon was impulsive, it came with careful planning and strict adherence to the social mores that his mother had taught him. Mary hadn't asked where they were going and Missy had loaned Penny her car; she didn't need it until the next afternoon when she had to go back to work.

When they finally made their way through Sheldon's relatives and Mary's friends, over an hour had passed.

For a while, they had driven around aimlessly. It was out of character for Sheldon, but he had simply rested his head on the window, staring blankly at the landscape that passed by. She even drove by the Galveston Railroad Museum, hoping to elicit some sort of excitement at the sight of trains. But, he was utterly impassive, lost in thought.

"Is there anywhere you want to go, sweetie?" she asked, finally.

Sheldon paused, as if contemplating the geography of his hometown. He seemed utterly uninspired by his recollection.

"You have a motel room, don't you?"

She drew in a sharp breath. Even thought she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he hadn't meant to be suggestive, it was strangely intoxicating to hear him ask what could be interpreted as a rather aggressive come on.

"You want to go back to my motel room?" she asked, her mouth dry and stomach fluttering.

He lifted his head from the window to scrutinise her face. "Does it have cable?"

"I think so," she said, although she honestly had no idea.

"Alright."

She drove just over the limit all the way to her dingy little motel and Sheldon didn't say a word. She parked in the parking lot, under the sign that read '_O_EL'.

"Here we are," she said lamely, waiting for him to roll his eyes. But, he obediently unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car. She led him wordlessly up the stairs to her room – the room she had kept only as a security blanket in case he threw her out.

The guy at the front desk may have been creepy and the lights outside may mostly be out. But, the rooms themselves weren't bad. They weren't dirty (and for that she was relieved; Sheldon might have run out screaming if they had been). Her room was sparse, with walls of exposed brick and a woefully simple looking television that Penny suspected would scarcely get free-to-air television, let alone the satellite television that Sheldon was used to. Her heart sank, but when she turned to look at him, he was sitting on the foot of the bed, with elbows resting on his knees.

He looked tired, but he didn't look childish to her. He rubbed his hand on his chin and Penny noticed that he was starting to get the faint five o'clock shadow that she had only recently started to notice. It was strange to think of him with facial hair. He was so often like an overgrown child. But, now he looked like a man, with the weight of a man's sorrow on his shoulders. She'd seen him like this once before, when they had been on the roof and he had looked down on the city below.

Presently, she sat next to him on the bed, her thigh just touching his. For a moment, their entire past was wiped away and it was as if they were strangers, just a man and a woman sitting on the edge of bed.

"What do you need?" she said, finally.

"I think I need a shower," he said, with just a hint of Texas twang.

"You can have one if you like," she said. "They gave me spare towels."

He turned his head to look at her, eyes unblinking. "I don't think I can."

"It's fine sweetie, they clean everything really - "

"No, I mean," Sheldon said, glancing down at his legs. "I don't think I _can._"

Understanding and surprise chased each other across Penny's face. She remembered their conversation this morning - _I'll do whatever you can't; that's how we work_ – and stood up, her heart beating fast. Wordlessly she reached out a hand, which he took after only a moment's hesitation. She pulled him to his feet before pressing her body against his, feeling his surprise, until he felt the pressure of her bare toes on the back of his shoes. He slipped out of his shoes, bending down to pull off his socks.

As she led him to the bathroom, she glanced back to see her black pumps and his formal black shoes next to each other on the floor (he had of course neatly folded his socks). The sight reminded her of the way she had felt as a child when she watched her parents get ready for a party. It had only happened once or twice – the invitations had dropped off with Jimmy's drug use and Ashlee's teen pregnancy. But, as a child, Penny had always imagined dressing for black tie galas with her husband. He would zip her up and she would slip on her shoes.

Penny shivered slightly at the thought, before turning to face Sheldon who stood nervously before her. He suddenly looked a lot less tired. In fact, he looked downright terrified. She steeled herself, knowing that she would have to be the one to take the lead.

_Big ole five_, she reminded herself.

Of course, here, in the bathroom with her best friend – reaching up to slip his jacket from his shoulders to hang it on the doorknob of the bathroom – she felt as clumsy as a teenager. Sheldon stood perfectly still, allowing her to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt at the top. She saw the first hint of his chest hair, before turning around quickly to turn on the hot water. It was the cold and not the sight of his skin that was giving her goosebumps, she reassured herself, switching on the heater that hung on the wall.

When she felt braver, she turned around to see that he had made short work of his buttons. He stood there with his shirt open, looking at her for guidance. She bit her lip – almost hard enough to draw blood – before she reached forward to pull his shirt from his shoulders. His hands almost got caught in the cuff, but Penny suspected it was caused more by her shaking hands than anything else.

She looked up into his face, feeling small next to his height. He could have rested his chin on her head. But, he did nothing except meet her eyes and give her a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

She swallowed tightly before reaching down to undo his belt and the top button of his trousers. She stooped slightly to pull his pants over his white underpants, down to the floor.

For a moment, she looked at him uncertainly, not sure of what she was doing as the room filled with steam.

_I'll do whatever you can't._

He nodded to himself, before stepping out of his pants, reaching down to fold them and put them on the towel rack. He adjusted the temperature of the water – and Penny had no doubt that he knew exactly what the perfect temperature was supposed to be.

She watched him carefully – staring hungrily at his pale back and the elastic of his underwear – before she reached up to undo her pearl necklace. Her own grandmother had given it to her before she'd died. It had seemed fitting to wear it today, but Penny didn't want it to get wet if she was going to shower. She wasn't sure where this was going; she half suspected that he would ask her to leave now that he seemed to be capable of moving again. But, to her surprise, he reached out a trembling hand and pulled her to his chest.

She drew in a jagged breath, unused to him initiating this sort of contact. She felt his hand running over the smooth skin of her shoulders before he found the zipper to her dress. With agonising slowness, he pulled down on the metal contraption, until he exposed her back. He pulled back, allowing her to pull the dress down over her hips and onto the floor. She smiled when he reached down to where it pooled at her ankles and gently picked it up to ensure that it didn't get trampled. He put it on the hook behind the door.

She stood before him in her bra and panties and she immediately noticed his reaction to her. She allowed herself a devilish grin.

He looked heartily embarrassed. "Penny, I - "

"Shhh," she said soothingly, stepping close to him and locking her arms around his waist, luxuriating in the feel of his skin. She was giving him goosebumps, she realized incredulously. She could feel them. When she spoke, her voice was husky. "I like it. It's sexy."

"I see," he said, his voice tight.

She pulled back recognising the look on his face. It was a look she knew well, even though seeing it on Sheldon's face was intoxicating. Summoning all of her courage, she reached out and hooked her fingers on his underpants, smiling again at the sight of his erection, secure in the knowledge of his attraction to her.

Slowly, taking her time, she pulled his underpants down, exposing him inch by inch (by inch).

Finally, he stood before her and once again she experienced a wave of unreality at the sight of his body, unencumbered by layers of clothes. She couldn't look away, nor could she pretend to be embarrassed by the intensity of her stare. She was not even embarrassed by the awe on her face, because it felt momentous to her. It _was_ momentous. It was without doubt the most intimate experience she had ever had, knowing as she did that no one – _no one_ – got to see him like this.

She wished for a moment that she had his memory. She ran her eyes over his lean frame, the fine layer of muscles on his arms, more subtle than she was used to but still undeniably present. She traced the v of his hips, until her eyes settled on his penis.

She loved his legs, she decided suddenly. She loved the length of them, the hair on them – the sheer masculinity of his thighs, meeting his boyish and knobbly knees.

She lifted her face, meeting his eyes, which were strange and aloof through the misty air of the bathroom. He did not look shy. Nor did he have the smug look that most guys gave her when she took off their clothes. It was as if he had disengaged from his body. He was simply absent, creating a safe distance between his body and his spirit.

She wondered, with a sense of dawning horror, whether this is what he had done when his father had hit him. Whether he had disappeared each time his father made a fist.

She needed him. She needed him _here_, in this moment. Because it was terrifyingly new to her – the way it was terrifyingly new to him. But, mostly, she needed him to come back from wherever it was he had disappeared to, so that they could deal with his grief.

She reached up both her hands and pressed them to his cheeks. She ran her fingers across his face.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, before standing on her tip-toes to kiss his face.

"What I know of beauty," he said softly, his eyes wide and honest even in the shadows that had formed where the light from the bedroom did not reach the bathroom. "I know only because I have laid eyes on you."

She drew in a sharp breath, pressing her body flush against him and kissing him in a thoroughly _impolite_, hip-grinding way. She pulled him closer and closer, moaning into his mouth, only half-hearing him as he said her name over and over. She felt him reach up for her bra, feeling for the hooks and quickly mastering them. She threw it over her shoulder, grinning into his mouth when he ran his hands over her back without even thinking to stop and tuck her bra away neatly.

After what felt like seconds but could have been hours, he pulled back, resting his forehead on hers, trying to catch his breath. They were beyond the present, outside of time, with no memories.[3]

Penny was suddenly acutely aware of every floating drop of moisture that filled the air. She could hear the water running and the sound of Sheldon's jagged breathing. She could smell his skin – it was as familiar to her as the feeling of his naked body pressed against hers was alien and thrilling. They were no longer strangers, but it wasn't odd to be here with him. In fact, it felt inevitable, it felt like a return to a place she had almost forgotten.

She had never known perfection quite like the feeling of their hearts beating together – racing together. He let one shy hand trace her spine until it reached the lace of her underwear. He moved slowly, the way a shy teenager might. But, she met his eyes with perfect certainty as his hand slipped down and cupped her backside. His other hand followed, tracing the elastic around until he reached her hips. Then, he slipped her underpants to the ground.

They stood in the low light, completely naked, bashful but unashamed. He looked down at her body. He reached out and touched her loose, blonde hair.

"_Ne plus ultra_,[4]" he whispered, running a hand over her breasts, tracing her spine. While most guys would be rushing to seal the deal, Sheldon seemed content to explore her body – to mark the new, unfamiliar terrain of her skin.

Once more, she took his hand, leading him towards the shower. He hesitated only for a moment, before stepping under the warm spray (it was the perfect temperature, of course). She pulled him in for another greedy kiss, reaching between them to wrap her hand around his erection.

He let out of hiss; the sensation was almost too much for him. "Penny, I don't think I can - "

"It's okay," she said gently. "I just want to touch you. That's all. For now."

His eyes widened as she moved her hand back and forth, testing the borders. She stood up on her tip-toes, kissing him on the neck, nibbling his ear. He said her name, without seeming to realize. Smiling to herself, knowing that she might not get a chance this perfect once they returned to California, she got down on her knees.

"Penny?" he asked uncertainly. "What are you - "

Any coherent thought that might have entered his head at that moment was lost as she took him into her mouth. She ran her hands up and down his stomach as he leaned against the wall of the shower, making noises she had never heard from him before. His face was twisted, an almost painful pleasure overtaking him. He rested one hand on the back of her head – not to control her movements, but almost as if he needed to reassure himself that she was still there.

She moved her head back and forth, thinking of the fundamental change that he was undergoing in this moment, well aware that he had never allowed anyone to do this to him before. He threw his head back, for one perfect moment letting go entirely. He came, speaking her name in a gutteral voice. As he leaned against the wall, struggling to regain control of his faculties, she ducked out of the shower, reaching for her mouthwash, eager to kiss him but equally eager not to awaken his usual idiosyncrasies – in place, she was starting to believe, to keep all the people around him at bay.

She slipped back into the shower, letting the clear screen close behind her. She smiled up at his awed expression. She reached up to kiss him, revelling in the way his arms wrapped around her protectively.

"I believe," he said in a gravelly, low voice that made her skin tingle even under the warm water. "That the principle of reciprocity prevails in situations such as this one."

"Sheldon," she said, surprised and turned on by his voice. "You don't have to - "

"I would like to touch you."

She ran her hands up his biceps, marvelling at his words. Then, without warning, he turned her around so that her back was flush against his chest. He ran his hands over her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers, exploring every inch of her exposed skin. His hands ran lower and lower over her belly as she struggled to catch her breath, to form a word or a thought.

"Show me how to touch you," he whispered into her ear.

She had, quite simply, never heard anything so erotic in her life. None of the dirty talk and pawing of the men she picked up in bars could compare to this, to his earnest desire to learn how to make her experience the pleasure he had just experienced. She could feel his intensity as he stared down at her body under the jets of the shower.

"Give me your hand."

He was a willing pupil as she guided his hand between her legs. She remembered the way he had played piano for her in the Cheesecake factory. His long fingers mimicked her movements, discovering her most hidden places. He listened to the intensity of her groans, he listened to the way that she said his name. He calculated how the friction of his fingers led to one sound or the other. Before long, her hand was simply caressing his as he explored her. She gasped his name, wondering when it had ceased being a name and had become the sound her breath made as it left her body. She wondered whether _she _was leaving her body. Her knees felt weak and she clutched his arm, which held her in place. She came with a force that surprised her. She could scarcely catch her breath. She closed her eyes, resting against his chest.

"Fascinating," he breathed.

She laughed; he was still so…_Sheldon_. He _would_ view what they had just done as some sort of voyage through the cosmos. She knew that when he got home, he would go through every detail of their interaction in his logbook. But, she didn't care. Because that hadn't just felt like fooling around in the shower. It had been a transformation for both of them. It had, quite simply, obliterated their friendship. There was no going back. Penny was terrified and elated in equal measure.

When she finally found the energy to move again, she turned off the water and reached for the towels that had been warming up under the heater. Wrapped in surprisingly fluffy white towels, they smiled shyly at each other. They felt different, but Penny was heartened by the fact that he still ranted about the importance of forward planning when he realized he had nothing to change into other than his suit. Even when she found them matching robes from the closet, he muttered darkly to himself about wearing a strangers' clothes.

He was still muttering as he climbed into bed, scarcely aware of the fact that he made room for her to snuggle into his shoulder. He didn't acknowledge the fact that she curled up against him, slipping one hand under his robe so that it rested on his chest. It wasn't until he turned on the old television to find that _Blade Runner_ was airing that he stopped complaining.

Penny found herself dozing, the sound of the movie filtering through her brain.

_I've seen things you people wouldn't believe_, Sheldon said to her in the pouring rain. _Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time._

_Like tears in rain. _She couldn't tell if was crying and she couldn't move to help him. All she could do was watch as his head bowed down.

_Time to die._[5]

She woke up with a start to find Sheldon asleep as the television flickered. It was the only source of light in the room. She reached up, brushing her fingers against the collar of his robe, feeling relief wash over her when she felt his pulse fluttering against her fingers.

She pulled the blankets higher up her chest, covering both of them. This had always been the way in Penny's life. Sorrow came on the heels of happiness. Having never known happiness like this before, Penny could not shake the feeling that soon disaster must strike again. The thought of it – of the world and what it would try to do to them – terrified her.

Tomorrow they returned to their lives in California. Everything would be the same as it was when they left. But they would be different.

Penny just hoped that this fragile, perfect world they had created between each other that night could withstand it.

* * *

><p>[1] This paragraph was based on Jack London, <em>The Call of the Wild<em>

[2] Last sentence based on Ian McEwan_, Atonement_.

[3] As above.

[4] A Latin phrase, meaning the highest point or perfect example.

[5] _Blade Runner_.

A/N: I know I said I'd get them back to California this chapter, but I was keen to update sooner rather than later.


	13. Chapter 13: The Map of Love

A/N: I know – it has been forever. I am very sorry. I had considered abandoning the story, but then felt I could at the very least present you with this transitional chapter. It's not action-packed, but it does mark a turning point, the return of Penny and Sheldon to reality!

_**The Elegant Universe**_

**Chapter Thirteen: The Map of Love**

"_Is it that happy stretch of time when the lovers set to chronicling their passion. When no glance, no tone of voice is so fleeting but it shines with significance. When each moment, each perception is brought out with care, unfolded like a precious gem from its layers of the softest tissue paper and laid in front of the beloved - turned this way and that, examined, considered."_

Ahdaf Soueif, _The Map of Love_

* * *

><p><strong>27 September 2007, 5.30AM<strong>

**Los Robles, Pasadena **

She is alone. She is alone.

And now, at the moment when all of her parents' greatest fears had been realized, she is oddly liberated. She is alone - the way she had always expected she would be. She is alone in a small apartment, sleeping in a bedroom she had once expected to share with Kurt.

When she had left Nebraska, her father had driven her out to the dam on their farm – their place. He had driven her silently – that unending silence of his that had been born of resentment, but had somehow grown to become oddly meditative.

He had told her - in small, stilted sentences, more in the words that he didn't say - that he was afraid for her. He was afraid that one day she would find herself far from everyone who loved her, alone in a place she didn't know.

She had laughed him off, with the easy flippancy of someone who is hearing her own worst fears spoken out loud.

She lies. In that moment, she tells him him that she'd never been alone in her life. She is always around people. She is always in the in crowd, she is always the last to leave a party.

Then, he had looked at her with those quiet, thoughtful eyes of his and she had known that he hadn't believed her for an instant.

"You're right, Slug," he said flatly. "You've never been alone."

Then, he had looked out at the vast expanse of corn – the product of hours of labour, made glorious in the setting sun. They stood for a while, watching the sunset over their shared summer project.

Then, without saying anything, her father had started walking back towards the pick-up truck. She trailed behind him, the way she once did when she was small enough to wear a tutu.

He hadn't told her that she could always come home. She was grateful for that, because if he had she might have considered it. There was something reassuring about not having a safety net - sink or swim.

She had driven away – driven herself to Kurt's place – and had only glanced once in the rear view mirror.

She sits on her bed in Pasadena, remembering the feeling of driving and driving – the feeling of watching her parents stand still, separated by the length of a ruler. And then, the way her father had reached across that gap between them and squeezed her mother's shoulder.

She sits on her bed and remembers the promises she made her parents. She measures – carefully – what it would cost her to return with her tail between her legs.

But her father never said she could come back, so it doesn't feel like an option.

She is alone. So when the strange young men across the hall offer her food, she clings to the gesture, she accepts the gesture and accepts their food and asks for more than she should.

The truth is, she feels spread thin, she feels like she is living half-a-life. She feels like she is dissolving. Her bright laugh, her bright hair – they make her feel transparent. She walks down the street and wonders why people don't stop to stare at her disappearing trick.

She is alone. So when the short little man with glasses and an eager to please smile looks at her with admiration, it is as if she remembers who she is, who she means to be. Who she has been – someone who was never meant to be alone, someone who was never meant to feel this tired.

She is alone. Even when she dances and laughs and gets naked in front of strangers. She is worried that she is turning into her mother, clinging to those small kindnesses even as she spins wildly - dancing, dancing, dancing. She wonders whether she has ever felt at home anywhere. She wonders what home means and whether everyone else feels this way.

She walks home after a night of forgetting herself – she walks home with her high heels in her hands, letting the rough pavement rub against her bare feet. She wonders why it is that she never feels more alone then when she is naked, when a man has his arms around her. She longs to escape from their clutches. But when she slips out of the door, when she hears it close firmly behind her, she wishes that she had stayed.

She comes home at sunrise and sees that tall, pale man who lives across the hall – the one who examines her with the detached air of a scientist examining a sample under a microscope.

He glances at her in her bright pink dress as he collects his mail. He tips his head to the side, examining her piece by piece. He does not judge her, he doesn't say anything about how many times he has seen her skulking home in the early hours of the morning.

"Penny."

He says it matter-of-factly, with a telescope or package under his arm. He says it because he sees her and he remembers her name. He says it because that's what he says when she comes home.

"Sheldon," she always blushes when she says his name, as if he'd walked in on her doing something profane. She pushes passed him in the stairwell, thinking uncharitable thoughts about why someone would walk up this early.

She doesn't know why she only feels like she has come home when he says her name.

* * *

><p><strong>29 November 2009, 1.00AM<strong>

**Galveston, Texas**

He must have dosed off because the television was still on, but _Blade Runner _had ended, replaced by a program that he could scarcely make sense of. It was a rather mournful sort of cartoon about a boy who was entirely alone on a planet that was only the size of the span of his legs.

Sheldon switched off the television, eyes adjusting quickly to the more perfect darkness. There was no light except the pale glow of the moon through the light, white curtains.

But, it was enough to see her by.

It had been days since he had even thought about the universe. He had been busy, performing the many tasks that came with the end of a well-spent life. It did not feel as if _he_ had been doing any of the activities of the last few days. They had been relentless. The funeral had come upon him so suddenly. Penny had appeared. His brother had made peace with him. His schedule, his carefully polished routine – everything had been swept aside. He had been at other people's mercy for days.

It was strange for such a cerebral man to realize that it wasn't until the astonishing physical sensations he had experienced at Penny's mercy in the shower that he had felt reacquainted with himself. It had taken an act entirely out of character to bring him back to himself.

It had taken Penny to bring him back.

She lay on her side, in the complimentary robe provided by the motel. It was rare for her to look so peaceful and still. Awake, she was always in motion, always pushing the boundaries, always leading the way down the path as he followed after her to make sure she didn't slip.

What was happening to them? How had they come to this point? What decisions had he made that had led to them sharing this bed, sharing the shower, sharing the most secret parts of themselves?

It was just like her to stroll across his boundaries. She walked into his apartment - into his life - she stole his milk and used his wifi. She had crossed every line that he had ever drawn.

He was not someone who knew how to bend. But, he had bended every rule he had for her. Perhaps that's how it began, then. Perhaps it began with the first compromise. Perhaps a part of him had known that if he compromised on one thing, everything else might follow.

But, he had never expected to enjoy it. He had never expected to want her to press his boundaries. He had never known how terrified he would feel, how helpless he would be to resist her.

Now, at the moment of his greatest professional triumph and his greatest personal loss, he found himself more concerned with figuring out the reason he felt and urge to brush her hair from her face.

He had expected to be an old man when he found the answer to the universe's great question. He had never expected it to come on the heels of such personal turmoil and betrayal. He had never expected that he would want to hide in a room with Penny until the fuss died down.

He was terrified because he could feel the changes inside of him. He was terrified because he felt his iron discipline – the wall behind which he hid the memory of his father, the smirks and derision of his peers, the way it had felt to learn that his friendship with Leonard was not unconditional and the feeling that came with losing Meemaw – begin to falter and warp.

He shifted in bed, reaching out his arms to wrap them around her.

He had needed space and time to process what had transpired between them in the shower. It had been so undignified, leaning against the tiles of the shower, groaning her name, face contorting and breath catching on the pleasure of it. It had been embarrassing, overwhelming, miraculous. He had needed space to process each of his emotions one-by-one. He had never been fast at making sense of feelings.

But, now, watching her sleep next to him, he felt the strange need to pull her close, to say _mine – mine – mine_ in his head, even though he knew that no one could ever really belong to someone else. He needed to feel the certainty of her body, because everything else was uncertain and shifting each moment.

He looked around guiltily – aware even as he did it that it was ludicrous to worry about someone seeing him. Then, with barely the force of a butterfly landing on a leaf, he bent his head down and kissed the back of her neck.

The soft sound - an exhalation, really – that she made when his lips contacted her skin electrified his nervous system.

Guilty, he pulled away resting his head once more on the pillow, eyes wide, struggling with this feeling building inside of him. It had felt oddly profane, given what she had done for him in the shower, that he should feel so aroused by a stolen kiss on the back of a neck. But it was undeniable. She was a vast landscape that he had only begun exploring. Each new inch of her was intoxicating and terrifying and full or peril.

But that was tomorrow's problem. Now he was safe and warm, holding a woman in a way that had had never even realized he wanted.

Tomorrow – today, he realized, glancing at the luminous clock by the bed – they would return to their lives changed, somehow transformed.

And he was afraid of what it might mean.

* * *

><p><strong>29 November 2009, 2.38AM<strong>

**Apartment 4A, Pasadena**

He wasn't sure when it had started, this realization that he was a minor character in his own life.

When Penny had agreed to go out with him - had pulled him into her arms and kissed him – Leonard had thought for a moment that he might finally step into the light on his own stage.

Penny was made to be a leading lady – from her long blonde hair down to her manicured feet. He had assumed that shambling after someone like that would make him a leading man.

But, now he was alone in an empty apartment, in a room that he had bleached of all personality in his quest to become someone who wasn't embarrassing, someone who was popular and happy. He rattled around the house, wearing his pajamas and wondering when he had become the villain of this piece.

He hadn't spoken to Amy since their last coffee, two days ago, when he had confided in her, shown her his soul. He had told her about the Arctic wilderness and she had listened carefully and impassively, without judgement. But then, rather abruptly, she had announced that the time she had allocated to their outing had now elapsed. He paid for the coffees, feeling oddly bereft as he watched her stride off, wearing those thick stockings and that dowdy cardigan.

It was not until he returned to the table that he found that she had left something for him: it was a postcard that he recognized from the Caltech book co-op. It had never resonated with him before, but somehow, knowing that she had left it just for him, made him feel oddly chocked up

It was a simple thing, just a picture of a note pad with simple, typewritten words on it:

"_Find what you love and let it kill you" – Charles Bukowski_

It seemed oddly whimsical for someone so scientific to have purchased the post-card. It seemed undeniably sweet to then give it up to someone who had just confessed to professional sabotage and acute jealousy.

He had placed it carefully on his bed-side table. He had stared at it as he lay in bed, nodding off with his glasses still on.

Then, last night, at around 12am, he had suddenly been overcome with the desire to play his cello.

He had glanced around guiltily, as if expecting to find Sheldon _tsk-ing_ at his thoughtlessness for playing music so late. But, the house was quiet and still.

He had placed the cello between his legs, his posture straight but loose – a physical awareness that he usually lacked. His fingers positioned the bow a few times, without actually making a sound.

When he had finally moved the bow on the string he had been transported. His notes were wavering and uncertain at first, until suddenly he had let go, given into the feelings that stirred inside of him. He had played only sad songs, but he had played late into the night.

He had woken up in the morning feeling young. Perhaps it was because young people are always exhausted. Or perhaps it was the feeling of walking towards himself for once, instead of struggling to escape his own company.

He hadn't intended on another all-nighter. But, at exactly midnight, he had woken up with that same urge to play.

Then, again, tonight, he had woken up from a deep slumber, overcome with the desire to make music, too feel _good _at something. He remembered the way his mother had looked at him whenever he had practiced his scales. She had an abstract sort of appreciation for music, viewing it as a pleasant type of diversion, something acceptable, but ultimately pointless. Whenever he had achieved less than perfect grades, she would threaten to stop paying for his cello lessons.

Playing the cello had become a symbol of defiance. But, by making it a symbol, he forgot the true, undeniable joy that it gave him.

He would have liked Amy to see him play. To know that there was more to him than those unsightly sides he had shown her that day in the coffee shop.

That night, as he played the music that came back to him still after all these years, like a loyal but long-suffering lover, he felt more _seen_ then he had in years. It wasn't the feeling of being seen by a person, it wasn't the feeling of seeing himself reflected in another person's eyes – that strange third person experience that had always accompanied him in treacherous and uncertain social situations. It was the feeling of starring in his own show.

A show without a leading lady, perhaps. But a show with a damn good score.

* * *

><p><strong>29 November 2009, 7.00am<strong>

**Galveston, Texas**

Penny dreamed that she was on a great metal ship that moved silently between stars. She made subtle, small adjustments to the instruments. She moved them left and right by a hair but made them miss collisions by thousands of kilometers.

In the dream, she had known that she was going somewhere. The man next to her navigated and pondered without speaking. They didn't need to speak, it seemed. He would move one long, elegant finger and she would know which way to go.

_We should write a song for when we get there_, she thought, knowing that he could hear her. _Something that will be remembered forever. A frail melody of ice and dust, of distance and Arctic cold.[1] It will belong to us and everyone else._

He turned his blue eyes to her, expressionless. But, there was something mournful about his pale face, the way an empty room or discarded book can seem melancholy.

He closed his eyes and she felt oddly bereft. The universe was at its most beautiful when she watched it reflected in his eyes.

She knew, though, the cause of his silence. He didn't know what ice was, he had never seen dust, had never had to imagine real-world distances or experienced cold.[2]

She knew his name, but couldn't remember it. It didn't matter. She had left her own name behind with gravity. Finally, he spoke.

_How can something frail and beautiful last forever? How can something belong to us and belong to everyone else at once?_

She didn't have an answer, even in her dream. So, she contented herself with spending the rest of the journey dreaming and knowing that he could see her dreams.

Penny woke up to find Sheldon's arms wrapped around her, as was becoming their habit. For a moment she was disorientated, groggy, still partly dreaming. The room came to her in sudden bursts, in frames, piece by piece. Each piece that appeared to her made a piece of her dream disappear.

Several moments passed before she noticed that Sheldon was wide awake. He was wide awake and he was looking at her.

"You are beautiful."

It was a cliché, really. And usually Penny would have shrugged off the sentiment. But, Sheldon didn't say anything without meaning it – and he was too naïve to recognize that it was a cliché. If Sheldon said that she was beautiful it was because he thought it was true.

For the first time, lying in his arms in the dim dawn light, Penny was afraid of what it could mean.

She was afraid because when people said she was beautiful, it was usually just before they left her and she couldn't bear for him to leave her.

It wasn't fair to blame Sheldon for those past transgressions; it was not his fault that the men who had come before him had made use of her and then let her drop carelessly away like soiled clothing or a gum wrapper. They called her beautiful and then they leaved her in the morning.

But Sheldon didn't leave people. He was all sharp angles and profound, piercing blue eyes, and whacky interests and strange facts and all the knowledge of the universe.

He was remarkable. And she was someone who was often left behind in the morning.

"Beautiful doesn't last forever," she said finally.

He thought for a moment, considering his words. "Some beauty lasts forever."

She made an disapproving clicking noise with her tongue and shifted in his arms. He was never the sort of person who would trap someone, so he let his arms loosen to release her from his grasp. She was suddenly eager to flee, if only to get away before he could. She sat up, adjusting her robe and turning her back to where he lay, still staring at the ceiling.

A few moments passed as she tried to think of something to say, tried not to think about the way it had felt to have take him in her mouth and –

"Some beauty lasts forever," he said again. "Not the fleeting, physical beauty that society constructs. But, the beauty of the first note of a song by Beethoven or the brilliant light of a universe dying or a star being born – or just the terrible beauty of ice and snow that goes on and on – _that_ beauty lasts forever." He finally tore his eyes away from the water-damaged ceiling. "When I say you're beautiful, I mean you're beautiful the way those things are beautiful."

"A terrible beauty?" she whispered, peering over her shoulder at him, with his hands neatly folded over his chest.

"A beauty that men must bow before."

He said it so matter-of-factly that she fancied she might start weeping. She would never, in her life, want to see Sheldon bow before anyone or anything.

She didn't know what to say to him. She didn't know what she could tell him about what they would return to in Pasadena. He thought she was more knowledgeable than he was when it came to relationships. But, the fact of the matter was that she was as confused and terrified as he was.

She felt suddenly, deeply afraid that he would leave her, scared that he might suddenly realize that they were two people who never should have met in this life time. It was moments like this, moments when she felt most lost that she would reach out most desperately.

She leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth.

For a moment he was still – shocked. But, as she nibbled at him and draped her leg over his side, he seemed to gather his senses and began kissing her back. She ignored his hesitancy and pressed her body flat against his chest, both lying on their sides.

In a moment of pure reflex, his hand slipped under the fold of her dressing gown. When he realized that underneath she was naked, he froze. She smiled at him wickedly, watching the quick play of emotions across his face – from surprise, to lust, to doubt, to confusion.

His hand, though, couldn't stop tracing tiny circles on her hip as he tried to pick one emotion and run with it.

"I want you to touch me," she whispered, running her hand up the arm that rested on her bare skin. "I want you - "

She had meant to say again that she wanted him to touch her, but it was more honest to stop speaking there. In this moment, she wasn't thinking about how momentous last night had been. She wasn't thinking about how miraculous it was that he'd even let her press this far against his limits. All she could think was that she wanted him, entirely – wanted to brand him with her name.

She kissed his Adam's apple, relishing the feeling of his pulse racing under her lips.

But, a moment later he pulled away.

"Penny - " he said, as if he planned to begin lecturing her on how much bacteria accumulated on human skin over the course of a night's sleep.

"It's non-optional," she murmured.

"Alright." His face registered only a tiny moment of surprise before he resignedly leaned forward to kiss her. Her stomach tightened as his lips met hers, gently, precisely, but then with less reserve and more of the strange passion that grew stronger and stronger between them.

But then - as his baser instincts kicked in and he pulled her closer towards him, fingers pressing into her thigh in a way that made her toes curl – she realized suddenly that her twisting stomach wasn't merely arousal. She realized, with a start, that she felt guilty. There was something about the way that he so unquestioningly accepted her statement that it was non-optional for him to kiss her that made her feel oddly ashamed of herself.

"Sheldon, wait - "

He stopped moving, his body suddenly stiff. He looked at her nervously, as if she had caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"Did I do something, wrong?" he asked shyly, reddening slightly.

She allowed her head to come to rest on his pillow. His hair was adorably mussed. His blue eyes were still so innocent, so clear, so anxious that he had done something typically insensitive.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"No, sweetie. I did something wrong. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I wanted you to kiss me. But, I want _you_ to want to kiss me more. Not just 'cos I told you so."

Sheldon considered her words carefully. "Do that mean I don't have to go shopping with you if I don't want to?"

She shook her head, amused. "It absolutely does not. It's a non-optional social convention for boyfriends to carry girlfriends' bags and - "

It was her turn to freeze. She wished for a moment that his memory would fail – just once – and he would forget what she had just said. But, his eyes were as sharp and calculating as ever. She knew that look of his: _processing new data._

Suddenly embarrassed, she sat up, breaking the spell. She turned her back to him. Gone was the fear that he might disappear on her, replaced by a mortification that made her wish he would leave her alone to curse herself for failing to play it cool for once in her life.

It wasn't as if they hadn't stood in his childhood bedroom just yesterday, talking about romance. She had so haughtily told him that she would teach him how to navigate romance. And now, here she was, embarrassed at the feeling of having all her cards on the table. While he just lay there, staring intently at her back.

There was silence as she adjusted her robe around herself, calculating how long it would take her to dash to bathroom, but knowing that she couldn't leave without knowing how he felt about the idea of him being her boyfriend. Those traitorous butterflies would see to that.

When suddenly he spoke in an oddly quiet, vulnerable voice.

"Are you my girlfriend, Penny?"

"I don't know," she said softly, staring at the peeling wall. "Do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

He sounded genuinely confused. "How do I know if I do?"

She peered over her shoulder, forgetting about her embarrassment. She had told him that anything he couldn't do she would do. If he couldn't figure something out, she would have to help him.

"Well," she said, thinking hard – wanting to answer him honestly. "There are lots of types of relationships, so it's hard to say. I've had bad boyfriends…"

"Understatement."

She ignored his snort. "I've had a _lot_ of bad boyfriends, so I guess I know everything you _shouldn't _want but I've never really thought about what it means to say someone is my 'boyfriend'. I suppose it's who you want to spend time with - "

"But, I would want to spend time with you even if our relationship hadn't altered," Sheldon said simply, unaware of how his words made her melt.

She twisted around to face him. She leaned on the bed, one arm straight as she considered how to explain it to him. "I suppose it is kind like a contract you make – one of your agreements, I guess. But the contract is about caring for someone as much as you care about yourself, or at least as hard you can.

"It's a choice, I suppose," she said dreamily, on a roll. 'That's what's gives it meaning. You say that this other person is _your_ person. You want to share your secrets with them, share your body with them, share you day with them. You want your story to be their story as well."

Sheldon considered her words. "And that feeling has to have a name?"

She smiled wanly. She had asked many boyfriends – Leonard, included - why they had to label things, why everything had to have a name. But now, with Sheldon she longed to hear him call her his girlfriend. At heart, she was always a dreamer.

"You know that feeling when you're in a crowded place, feeling lonely – and then you hear someone shout out your name because they want to catch up with you?"

"Friendship," he said simply, glad there was a concept in her whimsical speech that he could grasp.

He had learned about friendship over the last months. It hurt him the way that his friendship with Leonard currently lay. It hurt him because he had lost something. There must have been something to lose, then. Something more than lifts to the comic book store. Friendship he knew to real.

"Yeah, sweetie. That's friendship. So I guess with boyfriends and girlfriends it's about wanting to know each other even better than a friend does. To learn their _real _name. The name you'd have to call to bring someone home on a wild, stormy night."[3]

Something odd was happening in Sheldon's chest.

The truth was that he didn't really understand what she was talking about. But, while the words she used were too figurative for him to really understand, he could feel the truth inside of himself. When he had lived to find the answer to his formula – when his mind was dark and stormy and he was lost in it – her voice had led him back into himself.

"Is that what love feels like? Hearing someone shout your name in the middle of a storm to lead you home?"

He stumbled over the word 'love' the way others would stumble over the periodic table of elements.

"I think so," Penny said, doubtfully. The truth was that while had longed for men and dreamed of men in secret, she wasn't sure that she had ever been in love – at least not the way she thought she was able to love someone. "Or maybe love is what it feels like to forget your own name, just for a moment, because all you can think about is someone else's."

They slipped into a deep, contemplative silence. She was no longer embarrassed. Sheldon enjoyed talking about things in the abstract and she was surprised to find that she did too.

"Penny," he said shyly. "I think I would like to enter into a contractual arrangement where I agree to care about you as much as I care about myself, or at least as hard as I can."

Her face split into a wide grin. "You want to be my boyfriend?"

"Yes," he said after a brief moment's thought. "Provided that you will be my girlfriend. I presume reciprocity is a necessary precondition?"

She laughed lightly, leaning forward to seal their contract with a kiss. "It is reciprocated."

"Good," he said simply. "Now then, shall we discuss what we should tell my mother about our sleeping arrangements last night or shall we just resign ourselves to the inevitable three hours of prayer?"

Penny couldn't help but laugh as he sat up and began readying himself for the day. She proposed a shared shower, which made him blush beet red. She laughed, letting him off the hook, while lamenting the fact that his mother would know that they had stayed in a motel together overnight.

"You worry that my mother's perception of your promiscuity will make her approve of you less?"

And just like that, they were at it – bickering quickly, behaving more like an old married couple than a man and a woman taking their first, tentative steps towards each other.

Penny felt warm all over, glad to know that despite the newest heights of their physical relationship, they could still do _this_, be _them_ – fuss around each other like they always had. But, usually when they bickered she didn't feel like doing high kicks in the air, with her skin tingling and smile so big that she couldn't remember what it felt like to frown.

_He's my BOY-friend!_

She almost laughed at her own immaturity. But, instead she playfully pinched his behind as she walked passed, throwing her clothes into her suitcase as he blanched visibly at the disorganized sight.

For a moment, in this ratty motel in a tiny town in Texas, she was content.

But, then, she glanced over her shoulder to tease him. It was one of those moments when his mind was elsewhere – somewhere in this wide galaxy amongst the stars. He looked so remote and thoughtful that he could have been that mysterious man from her dream.

_How can something frail and beautiful last forever? How can something belong to us and belong to everyone else at once?_

She didn't know. And she didn't know how to ask him.

* * *

><p><strong>27 September 2003, 5.30AM<strong>

**Los Robles, Pasadena **

He is alone. He is alone at last.

He is alone and making lists. Alone at last, he sits and considers the optimum way to spend each day. He calculates the time that the post office will be most empty. He calculates the time that the supermarket will be least full. He is alone in his apartment.

He watches television. He sits in a fold out chair.

He goes to bed at a reasonable hour. He passes the room his old roommate left bare – bare save for the words painted in red: _DIE SHELDON DIE. _

He takes pause. The red reminds him of the red of his blood when his father slammed him into the wall.

He sees red and he remembers the taste of his blood and the fear he felt, thinking that maybe this blow would finally, irrevocably wound his brain. He remembers the feeling of it – the fear that without his big brain, he would be nothing. His hope that without that brain of his he might finally see the world the way others did.

He loathes himself for thinking that.

The safety instructions he has inscribed in glow-in-the-dark paint look ghostly. He hears sounds all through the night.

He compiles complicated lists of questions for the replacements he interviews. No one passes, no one comes close.

He is alone – the way he had always wanted to be.

But, he finds himself lingering in the grocery store. He finds himself listening to the inane chit-chat he has always shied away from.

He hears a squeak in the floorboards.

He sweeps the house, finds some of his old roommates things. He puts them in a bag. He catalogues them, makes a spreadsheet. He waits on his chair in his spot until Glenn comes to pick up his things.

Glenn scarcely looks at him, can't stand to be there for a minute longer than necessary.

He looks at Glenn and sees the sight of blood. He is brisk and unfriendly. His mother would be ashamed.

Perhaps it is better to be alone. Perhaps the people in the grocery store and the conversations he overhears at a distance are enough. Perhaps he can be a man of pure thought. Perhaps the noises his apartment makes in the night are nothing more than the sound of floorboards settling.

And then Leonard comes in, in a blue hoodie, all hair and smiles.

He remembers what his mother said on 5 March 1992, when she told him that we are no more than the sum of the people we love.

If that is true, then he is the smell of last night's whiskey and the taste of blood. If that is true then he is musty old bibles and tea with the Galveston preacher. If that is true then he is Einstein, Galileo and the sound that the stars make on a wide, bright night.

Leonard reminds him of his mother – all positive noises and polite chit-chat. But he knows _Star Trek_.

He follows the rules he painstakingly laid out the night before. When he shows Leonard the room, marked with his own name in red paint on the wall, Leonard doesn't run. He doesn't cringe. He faces everything with that same agreeable kindness that Sheldon will come to know as his response to everything.

It is a contractual arrangement – a financial agreement.

But, the first night that Leonard spends in the apartment, Sheldon finds himself sleeping soundly. In the morning, Leonard obeys the rules that Sheldon has put in place around the bathroom routine.

Leonard drives him to work. Leonard introduces him to Wolowitz and Rajesh. Leonard gives and gives and gives.

Sheldon compromises only as much as he can bear. He compromises more than he ever thought was possible. He angles his chair towards the conversation. He eats his meals with others in the room.

A month into their living arrangement, he is in the kitchen with Leonard, who holds a metal skillet in his hands.

Leonard turns suddenly and Sheldon cringes in preparation for the blow.

Leonard sees. He doesn't ask.

But that night, when they go to bed, Leonard reaches out and squeezes his shoulder.

_I understand_, Leonard says with his eyes.

"That's a strike," he says, scurrying to his room.

His _thank you_ is as silent as the sound that stars make on a wide, dark night.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz (email: wolowizard )<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.00PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh **

**SUBJECT: On the prowl**

Hey buddy

I found this flyer for gay speed-dating tonight. I was thinking we could get a few cocktails and then hit it up, wolf pack style.

I met the guy who is organizing it at the gym at work. He's kind of a chubby Ryan Gosling. But, he was unleashing on the weights room, so might be worth investing in him now before he slims down.

Howard Wolowitz

Wingman Extraordinaire

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.02PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

**SUBJECT: RE: On the prowl**

Dude. How many times do I have to tell you not to send this stuff to my work email?

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.03PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

How chubby are we talking?

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.10PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

Wouldn't qualify for a spot on a Weight Watchers ad. Just looks like he's over-indulged in the brisket for a few months.

So can fat Ryan Gosling and I expect your presence this evening?

HW

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.15PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

Wouldn't it be kind of weird for you to go to gay speed dating?

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.16PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

No weirder than the time we modeled at that life drawing class. Besides, my wingman skills are equal opportunity.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.18PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

So your advice is going to help me strike out with guys the way I used to strike out with girls.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.25PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

Hey, I give you the tools. It's up to you how you go about building the shed.

Anyway, I have a game plan so my raw sexuality and boyish good looks don't make it harder for you to pick up a boy toy.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.35PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

Do I even want to know?

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.38PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

Speed dating is all about the cohort. If I'm in there, giving guys just the right balance of crazy eyes and self-loathing, by the time you get to them you'll look like a catch in comparison.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 4.45PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

That's actually genius.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.01PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

So we're on. Pregame cosmos at the Raj Mahal at 8?

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.02PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

We are just like the Sex and the City girls! I dibs Carrie. You can be Samantha.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.10PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

Why do you have to make everything weird?

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.15PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

Dude, you're going to be hitting on guys tonight. The weird ship has sailed.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.17PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

I take my wing-man duties seriously.

Howard Wolowitz

First mate

HMAS Weird

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.22PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

You're a good friend.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Howard Wolowitz<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.25PM**

**TO: Koothrappalli, Rajesh**

And you're going to get laid tonight.

* * *

><p><strong>FROM: Koothrappalli, Rajesh<strong>

**SENT: 28 November 2009, 5.30PM**

**TO: Howard Wolowitz**

DUDE – _work_ email. See you later.

* * *

><p><strong>29 November 2009, 3.00PM<strong>

**Galveston, Texas**

When they arrived at MeeMaw's house, Sheldon found his mind suddenly overwhelmed with memories of his childhood.

He had come to this house so often when he was young – sometimes with his homework defaced and his lip bleeding from the most recent act of brutality on behalf of his peers.

He would walk into her house, aching with a feeling that he couldn't quite name. And there would always be two biscuits and a cup of tea waiting for him. MeeMaw would sit across the table from him and ask him about his day. She would ask him about what he was reading, what idea was consuming every inch of him. She would save up for weeks to buy him the heavy scientific tomes he would mention in passing. She savoured every word that he said – and when he didn't feel like talking she would let him be.

It was strange to know that the house was empty now. It was strange to think of all those photos and awards he had won that she had so carefully collected and displayed proudly in her living room would be packed away.

As they walked towards the house, he let his hand brush against Penny's, not quite sure what he was asking for.

When her hand wrapped around his, he felt an odd relief.

His mother opened the door before they had a chance to knock. She always knew when her children were coming. He knew that she was about to interrogate them about their whereabouts last night, but when her eyes fell on their entwined hands, Mary was absolutely still for a moment before allowing her face to split open with a wide grin.

She all but pulled Penny across the threshold of the doorway, into the house. When Penny's hand slipped from his he felt oddly bereft.

He followed reluctantly after the women as they chattered in that strange way that women did – as if most of the conversation was carried through looks and gestures. He shoved his hands in his pockets miserably, the absence of MeeMaw striking him suddenly.

Penny glanced over her shoulder and winked at him.

He didn't know quite what to make of the gesture, but he found himself speeding up to follow his mother and…his girlfriend (the unfamiliar thought made him wince, even as his heart clenched).

George Jr and Missy were already there, bickering and chattering, making lemonade. The pastor was outside, talking intently to the man Sheldon recognized as Missy's on-again off-again boyfriend. Two women were in the kitchen making sandwiches. They kissed his cheeks while he stood stock still, burning with mortification. They told him that they were friends of his mother's.

As he stood in the corner of the room, he watched Penny effortlessly flit between groups of people. He saw the pastor blush pink when she smiled at him. He felt a strange swoop in his stomach at the sight. Penny and Missy gossiped under the lemon tree in the backyard.

He found himself wandering out onto the verandah, watching Penny intently – oddly captivated by the way she smoothed her hair behind her ears. He felt a strange, jealous desire to hurry over to her side, to show Missy that Penny belonged with him. He resented the pastor who gesticulated wildly, trying to attract attention from the beautiful blonde woman who commanded attention so effortlessly.

"So y'all are heading back to California."

He jumped slightly at the sound of his brother's voice. He wondered how long George had been watching him, whether he'd seen the unseemly jealousy that had come upon him so suddenly and completely.

"That's right."

George looked down at his feet, thumbs resting on his belt. After a short, contemplative silence, he glanced back up at Sheldon. "It was good seeing you, Shell- _Sheldon_."

Sheldon looked at his brother's wide, honest face. It occurred to him suddenly that George had become a good man. A moment later, he wondered what had made him think such an uncharacteristic thought.

"It has been more pleasant than I expected," Sheldon conceded.

"I don't think we can take all the credit for that," George said pointedly, glancing at Penny.

Sheldon shrugged noncommittally.

"You don't give a lot away, do you brother mine?" George chuckled.

"I prefer to keep private matters private."

"Yeah, I know you do." George was silent for another long moment, as if considering whether he should say what had occurred to him. "So you and Penny – you're going to try to make it work with her, right?"

"We have agreed to shift the paradigm of our relationship, yes," Sheldon said carefully.

"That's good. That's _really_ good."

"Is there a particular reason that you are so inordinately fascinated with your shoes today?"

George rolled his eyes. "You really are a straight shooter, huh?" When Sheldon didn't say anything, George shook his head. "Ah hell."

"Cursing hardly seems - "

Without warning, George grabbed Sheldon's arm tightly. "Now you listen to me, Shelly. I know I ain't much in the way of a brother, but to be honest with you, you're not really what I expected from a brother."

"I know," Sheldon said quietly, staring pointedly at his brother's hand as it clutched his arm.

George seemed suddenly aware of the pressure he was exerting on Sheldon's arm. He loosened his grip.

"But I am, you know? I _am_ your brother. And it's my job to tell you that you gotta…you gotta get her flowers."

"Penny?" Sheldon asked, utterly nonplussed.

"You're a lot smarter than me in all the ways that count, but you're new at this…you're new at women. And women, they like you to tell them what you're thinking. They like you to tell 'em that you care about them, even if they know it already. And you gotta get 'em flowers and dance with them and take them and kiss them. You've gotta do all the junk that Momma taught us, like opening doors and walking on the outside of the road, and all that. You understand?"

"I should get Penny flowers," Sheldon repeated uncertainly.

"And candy and whatever else it takes. You're not good at talkin' about your feelings – and hell, most of us aren't. So you gotta show her that you care about her. You gotta show her that every day." George drew in a deep breath. "And if she does something crazy – and she _will_ do something crazy – and you don't know what it means, you call me and I'll explain it to you best I can. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I think I do," he said quietly.

"You'll show her?" George repeated, eyes boring into Sheldon's own. "You'll show her how you feel about her?"

Sheldon considered his words. "I'll try."

"That's all you can do," George said, dropping his hand from Sheldon's arm. Sheldon rotated his arm, trying to restore blood-flow.

They stood for a moment in awkward silence, before Sheldon cleared his throat.

"Thank you, George Jr."

George nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line. For a moment, Sheldon fancied that George might hug him, but at the last moment, he seemed to think better of it. George reached out his hand. Sheldon shook it, recognizing this as one of those non-optional social conventions that his mother had taught him about so carefully.

At that moment, Penny let out a particularly bright laugh. With George nodding encouragingly at him, he made his way across the garden. Missy glanced at him slyly as he crossed the moist grass.

"Sheldon – we were just talking about the diner where Missy - "

She trailed off when she saw his determined face. She cocked her head to the side, about to ask him what was going on, when he placed one of his large hands on her cheeks. She found suddenly that she could scarcely breathe, let alone speak, let alone ask what was going on.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that even Missy was quiet, no trace of humour on her face. They all knew that for Sheldon, such a display was unheard of.

"I care about you," he said softly, before kissing her once, lightly, chastely on the lips as his family and their friends stared at him shocked.

Penny couldn't control the smile that broke out over her face. "I care about you, too."

"Good," he said before dropping his hand and stepping away from her. She stood there, beaming like a fool as he blushed pink under his grandmother's lemon tree.

The silence continued, unabated as Sheldon shifted uncomfortably. Then, with perfect disdain he looked around at all of them and snapped, "What's the matter – haven't you ever seen a man kiss his girlfriend before?"

Surprised at his sudden commanding tone, everyone leaped back into what they were doing with renewed vigour. Penny and Missy turned around to resume their conversation about Hollywood starlets and unkind bosses.

In these chaotic social moments, Sheldon often found himself withdrawn and pensive. Usually it was because he was never more aware of his difference as when he was surrounded by people.

But, now Penny's hand had snaked into his own and his heart was pounding. Sheldon stood silently, watching his family as they milled in the garden, hearing Penny's bright laugh and wondering why the sound of it make him feel better about being the occasional butt of his siblings' jokes.

For a moment, it was as if MeeMaw was still there, watching them fondly from the shade of the verandah.

He shuddered slightly, his skin prickling.

"Are you okay?" Penny whispered in that confidential, intimate voice that he was beginning to view as vital a part of his routine as Pizza Night.

He considered for a moment because he was not the sort of man who would answer that question lightly.

He had lost his grandmother. He had lost that one link to his childhood that had never caused him pain. He feared that he might have lost his best friend – or worse still that he had never truly known him. He had broken a promise to himself never to let another human being cross his borders or blur his edges the way his father had. He had broken a hundred little promises he had with himself about the way he would live his life and the schedule he would keep.

Sheldon had always been the sort of man who believed that if you break little promises, you'll break big ones.[4]

He had always thought that discipline against the force of almost overwhelming temptation was the nature of bravery.

But, perhaps he had been wrong. Because the way she was looking at him, requiring that he show a little more of himself to her, was more terrifying and required more courage from him than he had ever known.

"Yes," he said finally. "I think that I am."

* * *

><p><strong>29 November 2009, 9.00pm<strong>

**Los Robles, California**

Penny and Sheldon climbed the stairs, their limbs heavy with travel. They had sat next to each other on the plane – her reading _Hollywood Reporter_ and he reading the _Journal of theoretical physics_. He handed her his hand sanitizer and she accepted it without question – eager for the chance to hold his hand when they landed and he grew nervous.

In her bag, she had the recipe book that Mary Cooper had given her en route to the airport.

"A secret weapon," Mary had whispered, pointing Penny in the direction of MeeMaw's cookies. "Use it wisely."

She hadn't trusted herself to speak.

Sheldon had stood for a moment in the front yard of his grandmother's house. When Penny had joined him she had stood slightly back, giving him a moment.

"Are you ready to go?"

"I'm ready for what comes next," he had said.

These Coopers – they kept her on the verge of tears.

They hadn't spoken since they arrived at the apartment, but they'd seemed to pass an entire conversation exchanged in glancing touches, in looks and raised eyebrows.

Through her exhaustion, Penny had to admit that she was happy. Arriving back in California brought with it so many challenges, so many barriers to a happy ending. And yet, when she was totally honest with herself, she needed the return to routine. She needed to see that they could work in the everyday, the way they worked in crisis.

As they climbed the final flight of stairs, Penny reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Dr Cooper," she said, her voice oddly husky. "Where do you want to sleep tonight?"

She would never grow tired of watching his wide-eyed surprise at her suggestiveness. She would never grow tired of hearing the sounds that he made when he was naked and she was on her knees and neither of them remembered how to speak. No matter how old she grew, how gnarled her memory became, she would never forget the night that they had passed in that sad motel in his home town.

But, it was not enough for her. She needed more-more-more of him. So, when she squeezed his hand and peered at him through her eyelashes, her heart was beating faster than she cared to admit.

They rounded the corner, arriving on the landing that separated World Sheldon from World Penny.

"Well?"

"Penny," he said.

She leaned in, as if to steal a kiss. "Well? Is that is a yes or a no?"

"Penny," he said again, pointing over her shoulder to the door to her apartment.

She turned, put out that he hadn't immediately taken her up on her implicit offer.

But, when she turned around, she found herself suddenly unable to speak.

"Hey Slug," said a man sitting on the floor, leaning against her front door. "Goddamn, have you grown up."

"Hi Jimmy," she said, mechanically.

It had been five long years. Five years of her mother's heartbreak, her father's quiet sadness. Five years since she had seen him, and yet here he was, smiling that cocky smile of his and giving Sheldon the same up-and-down look that he had once given Kurt in the backyard of their neighbor's house.

He spread his arms wide. "Is that anyway to greet your brother?"

* * *

><p>[1] A line and concept borrowed from a short story by Julie Novakova, "The Symphony of Ice and Dust", which was in the October edition of <em>Clarkesworld.<em>

[2] As above.

[3] Last line is a quote from Jeanette Winterson.

[4] _The Road, _Cormac McCarthy.

A/N: I know this is a rather abrupt drop-in, but I couldn't resist giving you a teaser of the next chapter. I know it's been a while between drinks, so let me know if you want me to continue!


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